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Oi- 







THE WHIRLWIND 















\ 



THE WHIRLWIND 


By 

A. STONE 

n 

Author of “American Pep,” “The Yazoo Mystery,” 
“Fighting Byng,” etc. 


Then ansivered the Lord unto Job out of 
the whirlwind, and said, Gird up thy loins now 
like a man: l will demand of thee and declare 
thou unto me. —Job: Chap. 40: vi, vii. 


) ) 
> * 

> ) > 


) 


MILTON-ON-THE-HUDSON, N. Y. 
THE A. STONE FOUNDATION 
Publishers - - - i9 2 3 




Copyright, 1923, by 
A. Stone 



Printed in the U. S. A. 


NOV 20 1923 

©C1A759013 

, A 


TO 

James Scott, 

WHO ALSO LOOKS ON THE MOST DELIGHTFUL 
AND INSPIRING REACH OF THE HUDSON, AND 
WITH A BRUSH, MAKES BEAUTIFUL THINGS. 



THE WHIRLWIND 




















\ 




THE WHIRLWIND 


CHAPTER I 

When “Red Oak” Tilden got off the L. & N. 
New York sleeper at Mobile, Alabama, like the 
true merchant sea hound he had become, he started 
at once for the docks and the barquentine Dur - 
land that he as Master had signed to take through 
the war zone to Spain with stave timber. 

“Red Oak” had been the name given him in his 
first year at Annapolis by a fellow cadet, and its 
fitness had made it stick, for he, with his short 
thick body and bushy red beard, did mightily resem¬ 
ble a sturdy red oak of the forests, and it was still 
as “Red Oak” that his friends lovingly hailed him 
in the many parts of the globe to which his sailings 
took him. 

“Why had this tight, sound, insurable bottom 
had six captains in two years?” he asked himself 
for the hundredth time as he came in sight of her 
in the first rays of the early November morning. 
Either Simmons, the managing owner and timber 
exporter, had not known, or he had lied outright. 

Jhough barely daylight, a spare, swarthy, some- 

1 


2 


THE WHIRLWIND 


what undersized man with a tousled head of hair 
black as any Indian’s, was smoking a cigarette 
near the forecastle companionway. As he saw 
Captain Tilden coming he moved listlessly and 
leaned against the chained deckload of short tim¬ 
ber which was everywhere except a small space in 
the waist. 

Captain Tilden knew that the man was Bates, the 
Mate, before he got to the plank, and Bates knew 
the visitor to be the new Captain. As Tilden told 
the latter who he was, Bates’ small bloodshot eyes 
glared a bit, a sneering smile coming to his thin 
lips, but he did not move; all of which was studied 
insolence, though Tilden did not think so at the 
time. 

“Yes, the crew is all aboard now, but you’d bet¬ 
ter move out in the stream—half were drunk last 
night—they’ll be up soon raising hell about break¬ 
fast. The cook sneaked his dunnage ashore and 
deserted; he wasn’t any good but he was better’n 
none—can’t get ’em at all now . . .” The Mate's 
voice trailed off sullenly. 

“Take the crew ashore for breakfast,” was the 
Captain’s first definite command; then— “Is the 
cabin locked?” he asked, taking a decisive step in 
that direction. 

“Yes.” Bates drew long on his cigarette and 
while blowing the smoke, threw it overboard with 


THE WHIRLWIND 


3 


a free arm movement. He rose stiffly as though 
muscle-bound, and tumbled down into the crew’s 
quarters, returning presently with a bunch of keys 
and holding them by the one required. 

“Oh, Captain,” he called after Tilden, as the lat¬ 
ter took the keys and started towards the cabin. 
“You see I’ve been with the ship so long I’ve fixed 
up quarters forward and don’t use the cabin.” 

The Captain hesitated as if about to question 
Bates, then resumed his way aft. 

The cabin was planned much as a big five-room 
city flat. What would have been the kitchen in 
the latter was here a storeroom for all but the less 
bulky items in the provision list. 

The Captain’s room faced astern the full width 
of the cabin and the ship save for the stairway on 
the left from the poop deck above. Being un¬ 
usually large, it answered for instruments, chart 
room, office, and sleeping. A single brass bed in an 
alcove made by the stairs was largely hidden by 
heavy portieres. 

Captain Tilden sat down at the flat top desk, his 
stocky log-like body completely filling the revolving 
chair. 

This was far better than the New York hotel 
room or the cramped Pullman he had just left. A 
feeling of elation grew almost to exaltation until 
his glance took in the bed. The snowy covering 


4 


THE WHIRLWIND 


peeped coyly through the portieres. That bed was 
made when brass was cheaper than now. It shone 
with recent polishing. It was ready for his use, 
and—he could sense—neither it nor the whole room 
had been put in order by a man. It was evident 
that the last Captain had had his wife with him. A 
pang went through his heart as he thought of his 
own recent loss, but quickly stifling it, he rose. 

China, silver and linen caught his eye through 
the open sliding door of the dining-room. He 
crossed the hall to the Mate’s room and bathroom 
just forward of it. Both were well fitted, unusually 
comfortable. Again he wondered why the Mate 
preferred to quarter forward with the crew. 

“Perhaps they have been in the coast trade where 
the Mate is often nothing more than a working 
foreman,” he thought. 

While going about ventilating the cabin, again 
it came to him that the last Captain and wife had 
come aboard in good faith; everywhere her touch 
was evident. Why had they left the ship at the 
last moment? His mouth shut firmly. He re¬ 
turned to the desk to make a list of things to be 
done before sailing: insurance survey, examine 
spare gear, check provisions, sign the crew again; 
“get a cook,” came last; he would attend to that 
when he went up town for breakfast. 

“I will go now,” he decided. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


5 


At the gangplank he met Bates. 

“As soon as you breakfast the crew, Mr. Bates, 
set your watches, then shake out your cloth and all 
spares so I can inspect them—” 

“The sails are all new and all right, Captain,” 
the Mate interrupted with assurance. 

“—and, Mr. Bates,” the Captain went on, ignor¬ 
ing the impertinence, “I want the last provisioning 
bills to check up the storeroom.” 

Bates met the steady gaze of the Captain for a 
moment and flinched. He knew now that that pow¬ 
erful body and windmill arms were not to be ex¬ 
cited needlessly. This was reflected in his: 

“All right, Captain.” 

After breakfasting, the employment agencies, 
ship chandlers and pilots were appealed to for a 
man for the galley. Most of them shook their 
heads. Some smiled at the Captain’s predicament. 
One agency offered to wire their connection in New 
Orleans and communicate with him later; there was 
a possibility they might get him a black or a China¬ 
man, but Army and Navy camps had stripped the 
country of every man who knew enough to boil 
water. 

Captain Tilden started back to the barquentine 
rubbing his eyes solemnly. The inconvenience and 
cruelty of war!—normally sea cooks are available 
anywhere! 


6 THE WHIRLWIND 

Back on the deck he saw Bates had every sail set 
as ordered. 

“Bates may do when he learns I don't want sug¬ 
gestions,” he reflected. Mates were harder to get 
than cooks—Mr. Simmons had told him so, and 
casual inquiry had confirmed it. But as he came 
alongside his brows drew together. 

“The Mate knows better than to leave my dun¬ 
nage on the wharf; what does he mean by such 
conduct ?” 

He called sharply to Bates: 

“Mr. Bates, send my dunnage on board; then 
bring your spare cloth and all other spare gear up 
where I can see it.” 

“That has not been used for so long we will have 
to move cargo to get it,” the mate grumbled. 

“What is spare gear good for if not instantly 
available?” Tilden replied tartly. “And where are 
the provision bills I asked for?” 

Bates started forward and soon came back with 
some dirty crumpled bills. 

“The ship’s articles, Mr. Bates—I don’t find 
them; do you know where they are?” 

“I guess I have them too. When the Captain 
quit, Mr. Simmons told him to turn them over to 
me.” 

“I see. Well, Mr. Bates, to save time, bring 
everything with you this trip.” 


THE WHIRLWIND 


7 


Tilden grasped his big square chin as if to stroke 
an imaginary beard, as he watched the Mate move 
away. “Muddy black eyes, queer long nose with 
a hump midway, irritable and pessimistic—and his 
hands—talons, not fingers—queer sort,” was his 
mental summing up of the Mate. 

When the ship’s articles and other records were 
produced, he said: 

“Mr. Bates, when the gear is out, bring the whole 
crew aft; they must all sign again to sail with me. 
How do they rate?” 

“Deep water mostly.” 

“I’ll look them over when they sign—what if I 
want to weed out?” 

Bates’ thin lips tightened to a slit. 

“They’re very scarce—oh, I guess we could get 
some.” 

The Captain had the new articles ready when 
Bates reported all hands outside. 

“Now the articles are just the same except my 
name as Master. You can sign first, Mr. Bates,” 
and the Captain offered him a pen. 

“Why—er—er— I have a contract with the 
owners. I—I—never sign with the crew. I’ve 
been with the ship so long—” Bates stammered, 
backing away slightly. 

“That might be all right or at least not so im¬ 
portant coasting, but for deep sea every one on 


8 


THE WHIRLWIND 


board must be bound to the Captain by the articles,” 
the Captain tolerantly explained. 

“As long as I have a contract I don’t see any 
good in signing,” Bates insisted doggedly, against 
the weight of the Captain’s scrutiny. 

“Then as I understand it, you refuse to sign?” 

“I have always had a private contract, and—” 

“Let it go now, and send in the crew,” the Cap¬ 
tain said with finality. 

The crew all filed in and signed without hesita¬ 
tion. 

“A pretty good lot—Sturgis, the carpenter, 
especially,” Tilden commented to himself after de¬ 
ciding to make no change. 

It was about eleven o’clock when he went to 
inspect and make a list of the spare gear. Happen¬ 
ing to glance forward, he was surprised to see Mr. 
Simmons, the owner, talking with the Mate. Was 
it possible that Mr. Simmons did not know that this 
was grave discourtesy? Almost as old as the sea 
itself is the law that the owner must address his 
ship through the Master. 

Mr. Simmons was still talking to Bates when 
Tilden returned to the cabin, thinking deeply. He 
recalled what Simmons had said in New York of 
Bates; too, the fact that the Mate had refused to 
sign and had given other evidence of insubordina- 


THE WHIRLWIND 


9 


tion. The latter's conduct, and the owner's dis¬ 
courtesy aroused Tilden’s ire. 

Perhaps this was why the Durland had had five 
Captains in two years. In any event “Red Oak” 
Tilden decided that he would soon find out. 


CHAPTER II 


Captain Tilden working at his desk felt all 
hesitation and doubts fade away. The feeling was 
not that of shackles removed—nothing so dramatic. 
Changes from within do not come with trumpet and 
drum, but in a way delightfully subtle. He realized 
he was back in his old form. His mental processes 
had spring and ginger; self-confidence was again 
enthroned. His three years ashore and the loss of 
his child—the one vital interest of his old life— 
instead of having been a destroying fire, had tem¬ 
pered and left him with clearer discernment and a 
smoother, keener cutting edge. 

“Red Oak” did not care how long Simmons talked 
with Bates, or what Bates would tell him. He was 
ready and waiting when he heard: 

“Good morning, Captain Tilden.” 

“Good morning, Mr. Simmons.” 

Captain Tilden rose and stood still, smiling but 
cold. When the owner of the ship came over to 
him, he intentionally gave him a limp handclasp. 

“I see you got here, and I suppose you are quite 
satisfied by this time,” Simmons remarked lamely, 
after feeling the flabby handshake. 

10 


THE WHIRLWIND 


11 


Captain Tilden shook his head slowly, his lips 
tightening. He did not intend to mince matters. 

“No, Mr. Simmons, not satisfied yet. You see 
my unpacked bags there?—” pointing to them. He 
met the gaze of the astonished owner squarely. 

“Why—I am astonished! I thought as I told 
you that matters were in prime condition for sail¬ 
ing.—What is the trouble?” 

“Mr. Simmons, are you astonished that I think 
your conditions impossible, or that I have discovered 
so quickly them to be so? I have just made a list 
for you to look over.” 

“If there are impossible conditions, you have dis¬ 
covered them mighty quickly.” Mr. Simmons’ eyes 
avoided Tilden’s and sought instead the piece of 
paper handed him. “I thought myself fortunate 
in securing your services, but of course—” he 
halted, crossed his legs, and took out a ciga¬ 
rette. 

“Mr. Simmons, your enterprise is so loosely 
thrown together that it seems impossible that a 
man as big as you does not see it. Certainly I—” 

“I have other interests—and everything is now 
so upset; I may have been misled—I’d really like 
to know what you think.” Mr. Simmons was plainly 
at a loss. 

“Are you sure?” Tilden pointed to the slip of 
paper. “Time and money are called for;” he fairly 


12 


THE WHIRLWIND 


exploded—“you may get a Captain to take her as 
she is!” 

“But I want to know—” Simmons insisted dog¬ 
gedly. 

“Well, all right; I’ll tell you; I’m in no way 
superstitious. Such rot as signs, fortune-telling, 
astrology and ungrammatical lurid sea language I 
dropped years ago along with corsets and naval 
academy snobbishness, but there’s nothing about 
this ship from truck to keel that I will not know 
before I sail. Likewise about you as owner-man¬ 
ager. And I warn you that I will not sail until 
prudence has been fully satisfied. I am not afraid 
to sail a ship anywhere which to me is right, but 
I am too big a coward to commit suicide by sailing 
in one that’s wrong.— 

“Bates, the Mate you asked me to retain, has 
been and expects to be the real Master. You have 
been recognizing him as such and you so acknowl¬ 
edged him just now when you came aboard. Mr. 
Simmons, I don’t believe I’m a foolish stickler for 
form except when discipline and morale are in¬ 
volved. The cabin first, however, and any report 
from a caretaker should be made in the presence of 
the Master.” 

Owner .Simmons became grave under such an 
arraignment from one whom he had agreed to pay 
four hundred dollars a month and a fifty per cent* 


THE WHIRLWIND 


13 


bonus. The Captain waited doubtful of the reply 
he would receive, but at the moment seemingly in¬ 
different. Simmons’ eyes came back to the paper. 

“In simple fairness I admit your complaint is 
just, but you may not have noticed that Bates 
stepped in front of me when I was coming directly 
to the cabin. He was somewhat justified by the 
fact that he was left in charge.” 

“I grant that, Mr. Simmons, but that does not 
explain why you have kept a man two years who 
has been stealing,” persisted Tilden steadily. 

Simmons dropped his chin between his thumb 
and index finger and raised his eyes but did not 
meet the Captain’s glance. 

“I think that can be arranged—” 

“Only one way,” interrupted Tilden, “and that 
is for Bates’ bag and baggage to go over the side 
at once.” 

“If I undertake—” 

“Nothing whatever,” again Tilden broke in, “ex¬ 
cept for you to decide between us. If you want 
Bates, I take the next train to New York.— If 
you want me, I must discharge him in your pres¬ 
ence.” 

“Can you get another Mate without delay?” 

“No—at least it’s doubtful.” 

Mr. Simmons looked out at the skylight, blew 
smoke that way, then turned a puzzled glance to- 


14 


THE WHIRLWIND 


wards the Captain. Though a shrewd timber 
trader, he was inclined to follow the course of least 
resistance. 

“And the general nature of your other require¬ 
ments ?” the owner countered, grasping his chin 
again. 

“Extra running gear, survey of both ship and 
cargo by underwriters; Bates likely had to do with 
the loading/’ 

“Only a short time ago I paid for extra gear,” 
Simmons answered, a savage glint beginning to 
appear in his eye. 

“I believe that or I would not even stop to talk; 
but Bates has been attending to such things and I 
have proof that he’s been stealing from the ship 
in other ways. If your proposition is a straight-out 
open-and-above-board matter of running blockade, 
delay or expense doesn’t count. If your project 
is not of that nature, you won’t want me and I 
will be Captain Number Six to leave your em- 
ploy.” 

Simmons uncrossed and spread his legs reso¬ 
lutely, looked at the tip of his lighted cigarette— 
the third he had smoked while there—then cleared 
his throat. 

“Captain Tilden,” he began, “I’m going to take 
the chance. I’m going to bet on your being big 
enough to do it. Send for Bates and discharge 


THE WHIRLWIND 15 

him; after he’s off the ship we’ll decide what’s 
necessary.” 

Tilden’s short legs reached the floor and took him 
to the door with what seemed to be a single move¬ 
ment. 

Bates came slowly at his call, as if any time 
would do, but his satisfied smirk faded when he 
got into the ominous atmosphere of the cabin. 

“Mr. Bates,” began Tilden, scanning him, “I have 
decided we can't get on. Get your dunnage over 
the side as soon as possible.” 

“Why—er—what—?” 

Then both Bates and Captain Tilden turned to¬ 
ward Mr. Simmons, whose face was now distinctly 
inscrutable. 

“I have told you why, Mr. Bates,” said the Cap¬ 
tain. 

Bates’ neck reddened with anger and his eyes 
took on the appearance of glowing coals. He turned 
slightly to Simmons whose face was still as difficult 
to read as that of the Mona Lisa. Bates may have 
correctly interpreted the slightly nervous move¬ 
ment of the Captain’s arm resting on his desk for 
he began to back out, with another glare at Sim¬ 
mons. 

“All right, I’ll go, but I’ve got some wages com¬ 
ing.” 

“Yes; go to the office and make it speedy; every- 


16 


THE WHIRLWIND 


thing waits until you’re over the side.” Captain 
Tilden followed him forward, catching sight of 
Sturgis, the carpenter. 

“Sturgis, the Mate is leaving the ship—dis¬ 
charged. You will now have charge; keep an eye 
on him and report when he’s over, and—Sturgis, 
inquire among the men if any of them ever cooked 
—just a mess or two until we get some one.” 

When he got back to the cabin, Simmons seemed 
relieved. They went together to the poop deck but 
instead of continuing the discussion of the affairs 
of the ship, their conversation turned into general 
channels. 

Sturgis returned to say that Spanish John would 
stump the galley until the cook came. 

As Bates started over the plank and up the wharf 
with his two big bundles of personal effects, Sim¬ 
mons exclaimed to the Captain: 

“Captain Tilden, you have lived up to my expecta¬ 
tions. For two years I have been trying to find a 
man with nerve enough to pry that fellow off this 
ship. Go ahead, rush what you consider necessary 
—expense is nothing if we get speed—despatch!” 

Sail makers worked night and day. The Under¬ 
writers’ survey pronounced the hull sound. The 
deck for a distance abaft the forecastle into the 
waist was ordered cleared and more chain lash¬ 
ings. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


17 


The surveying was done punctiliously by what 
seemed not a man, but rather a tremendously big 
nose, a cane, a slightly bent figure and a sole re¬ 
maining unmanageable wisp of hair in front. This 
was Fortesque, an Englishman who seldom failed 
to introduce his speech without a hesitating “e,” “er” 
or an “oh,” apparently in an effort to be brief, ex¬ 
act and convincing. What he didn’t nose out of a 
ship and cargo, he detected through his substan¬ 
tial cane by taps and punches. He adroitly drew 
from Captain Tilden what was being done about 
spare gear. 

As Tilden suspected, he was more than an 
ordinary inspector. He adjusted all principal losses 
in both Americas, and had other important functions 
of which the Captain was to learn later. 

When Fortesque was through the barquentine 
was known to be seaworthy and the cargo properly 
stowed and lashed. 

“Oh—er—Captain Tilden, you know our records 
show you have lost no ship or had no major ac¬ 
cident,” the Inspector said. “In times like these, 
we looked closely at the Master’s record before 
placing a half million on ship and cargo—it is 
simple prudence. We want you to get through but 
if you should get called in the zone, stand still and 
show them you’re all timber cargo which has been 
paid for by a neutral.” 


18 


THE WHIRLWIND 


It was Fortesque’s suggestion that the ship be 
provisioned there in Mobile, so that nothing but 
fresh vegetables need be taken on in Spain. 

Mr. Simmons was to get a cook, and Captain 
Tilden his mate. 

In answer to Tilden’s inquiry, Captain Blount, 
his friend, wired from New York: 

“No mates immediately available.” 

This was not reassuring. They knew in the 
morning of the third day everything would be 
ready and aboard before night except a cook and 
mate. 

Mr. Simmons on a slight prospect, rushed to New 
Orleans, returning later in the day exultant; he 
had secured a cook. 

“No choice, Captain; convalescent, just dis¬ 
charged from the Navy and the hospital.” 

“Where is he?” asked Captain Tilden, coatless, 
glancing about from where they stood alongside 
the barquentine. 

“Came on the train with me; will be here 
shortly.— There he is now—thin as a razor back, 
but that isn’t against him.” 

They could see him coming, or rather they saw 
a uniform struggling with a goodly sized bag. 

“Then as soon as we get a little more extra cloth 
and green stuff aboard, we can sail; I have signed 
a mate,” said Captain Tilden, his eyes twinkling. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


19 


“A mate?” exclaimed Simmons excitedly, looking 
from the advancing uniform which contained the 
very shadow of a cook. 

“Yes, a mate; I have signed Bates.” 

The manager-owner whistled. 

“Yes, Bates. He came and applied for the job. 
He apologized for his insolence, stood the flog I put 
on him, and promised everything. But with all that 
I would not take him if any other were in sight. 
Something’s wrong with him—a button or two 
gone; he acts like a man who has suffered mentally 
through disease. He doesn’t know what to do with 
his hands; I only signed him for the outbound 
voyage,” Tilden explained further; “I’m taking a 
chance only because of the urgency.” 

“Well, well—yes, time is money now in big 
figures. I hope you will be able to handle him.” 
There was a strange note in Simmons’ reply. Til¬ 
den thought of it afterwards; he was not sure 
whether it was hope, resignation, or warning. 

Captain Tilden removed his hat, and thrust his 
fingers into his standing hair with a backward 
stroke—the only comb he ever used. He glanced 
sharply at the approaching cook, the last link in his 
sea-going chain; then scanning the owner’s face, 
began: 

“Mr. Simmons, a fairly disposed crew reflects the 
Master’s innermost intentions towards it which it 



20 


THE WHIRLWIND 


senses astonishingly quick. They apparently get 
his number from the air. My intentions are good; 
I regard a crew as human beings whose welfare 
and existence now and hereafter are as important 
to them and their Maker as yours or mine. I in¬ 
variably hold the crew. If Bates doesn’t pay in 
kind, he’ll soon learn of an iron hand.” 

Simmons nodded endorsement. Turning slightly 
he smiled easily, familiarly at the cook and pointed 
just beyond them to the gangplank of the Dur- 
land. Both men watched the lank body labor across 
the gangplank with his bag. It was not unusually 
large nor heavy, yet his spine bent double reversed 
as the letter “S” under its bulk. Their glances 
met. 

“I did not notice whether there was any lead 
aboard or not; in my hurry I know I did not bring 
the burial ritual,” was the Captain’s condensed 
criticism, though spoken rather sadly. 

“No, Captain; I think you’re wrong; a fever 
often leaves them that way,” mildly insisted Sim¬ 
mons, as they watched the cook disappear into the 
crew’s quarters forward. 

“Good God—I hope so!” responded Tilden fer¬ 
vently. “His face doesn’t show it so much as his 
body. Above his shoulders, he is remarkable.” 

And so he was; one could believe that the hospital 
surgeon in order to save such a face, head and 


THE WHIRLWIND 


21 


neck, had artistically grafted them on the only 
available material on hand at the moment, which 
was a weak, slat-like body, prominent rumps, sink¬ 
ing flanks, and all bone legs, accentuated by the 
pants that laced about his hips and flapped about 
his shanks as though encasing steel rods instead 
of skin and bones, to which were added articulate 
smallish feet. The malady had left the cheek bones 
slightly prominent and the considerable red of his 
lips cracked and peeling. Distinctly dull now were 
the dark blue, well spaced eyes under arching brows, 
and the chiseled, slightly aquiline nose was almost 
too prominent. 

“I will be as easy on him as possible so that he’ll 
last this voyage,” Captain Tilden said indulgently, 
breaking a moment’s silence. 

“He may surprise you, Captain—” 

They were interrupted by a ship chandler’s heavy 
motor truck rushing on the dock and bringing up 
short at the Durland’s gangplank. 

“Mr. Simmons, there is the last of my spare 
cloth and vegetables. I am all cleared and the tide 
is right; telephone for a tug and I’ll see the sun 
set at sea to-night.” 

“One will be here to take your line by the time 
you get that stuff aboard,” Simmons called back, 
as he hurried away. 

It was a big load—barrels, crates, baskets and a 


22 


THE WHIRLWIND 


hamper of green vegetables; rolls of sail cloth and 
other odds and ends needed to complete the smallest 
detail of his equipment for a month’s voyage in 
winter, the worst season of the year, in addition to 
having to pass through war waters. 

Bates had every man jumping and they had it 
all on top of the deck load, though in great dis¬ 
order, just before the tug blew for their tow line. 
Hawsers that had held the Durland to the wharf 
for many waiting days were slackened, and she 
began to drift slowly into the stream. 

Mr. Simmons rushed alongside in time to shake 
hands with Captain Tilden. 

“Good luck, Captain!” he said as the breach be¬ 
tween the dock and the ship widened. “Jamb her 
to the last thread; remember, no complaint about 
bills that stand for speed—despatch—” 

“I know—I understand—” 

“Instructions about return cargo will be waiting 
for you when you get to Bilboa,” continued Sim¬ 
mons, bending forward with hands on his knees. 

“If we get there,” smiled Tilden, making a mega¬ 
phone of his hands. 

“You’re going to get there!” was the parting 
injunction as the owner started slowly up the 
wharf. 

As predicted by Captain Tilden, at sunset every 
sail of the Durland was set; a good wind was driv- 


THE WHIRLWIND 


28 


mg her towards the Tortugas and the Straits of 
Florida through which she would pass, then into 
the Atlantic and square away for Bilboa on the ex¬ 
treme northern coast of Spain through the Bay of 
Biscay, always erratic and dangerous, and now 
war-infested. 

In his anxiety about Bates, the crew and ship, 
all new to him, the Captain had not again thought 
of the new cook during the time they were getting 
the ship under sail and on the course she would hold 
for several days without change. 

This accomplished, he left the deck and went be¬ 
low, and was making the first entry in the log 
when he heard some one enter the cabin. 

“Captain Tilden, shall I serve your dinner now?” 
in a voice slightly shattered and tremulous still from 
recent illness. 

“Yes, all right—oh, what is your name, cook?— 
and you haven’t signed the articles yet?” he asked 
absently while completing the entry. 

“No, sir, I have not.” 

Captain Tilden got the instrument, moved the 
light slightly and offered the cook his pen without 
looking up. 

The cook came to the corner of the desk and in 
a fine but shaky hand scrawled “Jim Conroy” on 
the articles. 

“You have been advised you are signing to go 


24 


THE WHIRLWIND 


through the war zone?” the Captain asked per¬ 
functorily. 

“Yes, sir,” came promptly with a modulated 
palpably assumed deference. 

“Now—‘Ji m> is it?—you can bring my supper.” 

As soon as the cook had gone, he said to him¬ 
self : 

“That’s an odd chap; I bet he originated in well- 
to-do quarters, and that he’s educated. One can 
tell something of their life story in the way they 
respond to a simple question.— It’s most astonish¬ 
ing.” 

He got up and glanced through the sliding door 
into the dining room adjoining. 

“It’s neat and he knows how to set a table,” was 
the mental comment as he observed the spotless 
cloth and the china and silver the boy had found 
unaided and placed invitingly. 

The Captain went back on deck; it was now fairly 
dark; not a shore light was visible. 

“When did we lose the harbor light?” he asked 
the man at the wheel after peering into the bin¬ 
nacle. 

“Only a few minutes, sir.” 

The Captain went over to the starboard and struck 
a match to read the log. 

“Better than eight knots with a fair breeze. We’ll 
squeeze her up to ten knots when I get to know 


THE WHIRLWIND 


25 


her better.” He was friendly with the Gulf of 
Mexico, but didn’t trust her. That time of the 
year she was deceitful and tricky. Though often 
placid and balmy, in November she was dam and 
sire to tornadoes and destroying hurricanes chang¬ 
ing from the laudable delights of usefulness in a 
twinkling to an infernal delight in violence and 
death. 

“If the termagant can only be withheld from 
brawling beyond a stiff wind until I make the 
Straits, we’ll be all right,” was the Captain’s re¬ 
flection. 

« 

As he went below to the cabin he noticed the 
vacant Mate’s room. “The cabin wouldn’t be so lone¬ 
some with the right kind of a Mate,” he thought. 
He passed into the dining room. Again he sensed 
that indescribable something for which a man un¬ 
consciously craves—just what it was he could not 
have put in words for all that his eyes could note 
before him was a very attractively laid table. He 
mentally congratulated himself on having drawn 
a prize in the cook. 

“I hope his health improves,” he wished. 

Jim entered as soon as the Captain was seated 
to inquire about his customary evening drink, and 
left at once to get it. 

The white cap and coat improved the boy’s ap¬ 
pearance so much that an exclamation of approval 


26 


THE WHIRLWIND 


almost escaped the Captain. Usually he preferred 
to help himself, but he did not mind the lad stand¬ 
ing by offering him sugar and cream for the un¬ 
usually good coffee. 

“How do you find things in the galley, Jim?'’ 

“All right, sir; am I to come to you for stores 
or to go to the Mate?” 

“The stores are here,” jerking his thumb towards 
the next room forward. “Come to me for the 
key.” He wondered if Bates, by attitude or re¬ 
mark, had inspired the question. On small sailing 
vessels the Captain as the head of an oversize family 
has all keys and divides the steward’s duties with 
the cook, who is usually private steward to the 
Captain. 

“Have you been to sea before?” 

“Not as cook; I explained that to Mr. Sim¬ 
mons.” 

“Oh, it’s all right; I can see now you’ll get along 
nicely as soon as you get used to the ship’s rou¬ 
tine.” His voice was reassuring as he noted the 
boy’s concern over the question. 

“I hope so.” 

“There is nothing difficult. Give the crew all the 
food they want.” The Captain hesitated. He 
thought he heard voices in the gangway outside the 
cabin; then he continued: “A sailor given good 
food will usually give good service. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


27 


“You see/' he went on, still listening for the 
voices outside, ‘‘the crew necessary to work a ship 
of this size is so small that it's a little hard to 
arrange/' Here he stopped; the voices grew plain 
enough for him to hear Bates’ voice above the rest, 
somewhat excited. They were coming towards the 
cabin. He glanced at Jim, who evidenced no con¬ 
cern at the rap on the casement of the open cabin 
door. 

“Come in,” bade the Captain, laying down knife 
and fork. 

Bates tore off his cap as he came in, and greatly 
agitated held up a goodly sized market basket, gasp¬ 
ing: 

“One of the crew just found it!” then held it 
full arm towards the Captain as though it might 
contain a serpent or explosive. 

“What is it, Mr. Bates?” asked Captain Tilden 
quietly, searching Bates’ face, but still taking in both 
the cook and the heads that were now visible in the 
doorway. 

“Look at it!” Bates exclaimed suspiciously. 
Gingerly he placed the basket on the table opposite 
the Captain and in full light of the hanging lamp. 

Captain Tilden rose deliberately, went around the 
table and caught with his thumb and finger a white 
cloth that projected slightly over the side of the 
basket. He started back in consternation. He 


28 


THE WHIRLWIND 


scanned the suspicious Mate whom he thought might 
be acting, the still expressionless countenance of the 
cook, and the grinning faces in the doorway. Every 
eye was on the Captain to witness what they could 
not believe possible. 

In the light “Red Oak’s” big Roman nose and 
straight upstanding hair gave him fierce aspect, not 
belying his name. This, however, soon began to 
soften. He raised his eyes and smiled downward; 
there was joy in every lineament of both face and 
body. A little child smiled up at him from the 
bottom of the basket! 


CHAPTER III 


Captain Tilden’s first meal aboard the Durland 
was to remain unfinished. Jim, the cook, seemed to 
know this and deftly removed it and the men all 
left with Bates. 

Captain Tilden was Master of the ship, but not 
of created human life. Inherent power of com¬ 
mand, long arms, great chest and sturdy legs availed 
nothing in the presence of this helpless child. This 
thought sent his upstanding hair higher and 
straighter as he looked down the length of his 
eagle-like nose, realizing how utterly incapable he 
or any one aboard was to do a mother’s part for 
this infant, age and sex yet unknown. 

Lifting tiny fists, it squirmed, its miniature face 
preparing for a wail or another winning smile. 
But instead, it calmed and contemplated the big 
man standing over it. 

The Captain was so moved his blood began to 
race through his veins. All of his father love was 
aroused. In a little baby’s helplessness lay a greater 
power than in an army made up of the able-bodied 
men of the world. It was the power of Heaven 
which the little helpless infant brought so close that 

29 


30 


THE WHIRLWIND 


its beatitudes were inducted, influxed into the giant 
breast and filled his heart to overflowing. The 
long arms reached out and took the baby from the 
basket when its unease was again evidenced. 

“Hungry, of course,” the Captain murmured, and 
touched the galley buzzer. “So soft, so tender and 
fragile—even smoothing its silky hair back, the 
rough hand might hurt—only a mother could handle 
it right,” were the strong man’s reflections. 

Jim responded so promptly to the sound of the 
buzzer he must have been pondering on the Cap¬ 
tain’s dilemma and anticipating the summons. 

“Jim, do you know anything about a baby’s 
food?” Tilden stopped in front of the cook as if 
to let the infant exhibit its power and win him 
over too. 

“I know a little; I’m the oldest of the family— 
condensed milk diluted and warm is all right.” As 
he replied there hovered about his mouth the trace 
of a smile and he looked tenderly down at the child 
who without the use of any of the five senses, or 
strength or speech had in a few minutes won for 
itself food, a place of abode, and raiment.— 

“I’ll do my best,” he declared, anticipating the 
Captain’s request, then added: “Shall I take him 
to the galley?” and at the Captain’s nod of assent, 
continued: “I will arrange some kind of a feeding 
bottle while the milk is heating.” 


THE WHIRLWIND 


31 


Captain Tilden was somewhat reassured by the 
way the cook took the child and held it in his 
arms—thin arms— “Better suited to hold an infant 
than the bag he carried aboard,” was the Captain’s 
unconscious reflection as his glance followed the 
pair. 

“Jim, will you ask the Mate to report?” he called 
after him. 

Bates entered hurriedly, cap in hand. Again Til¬ 
den felt somewhat irritated. He wanted to tell 
him to put his cap back on his head, but re¬ 
frained. 

“Mr. Bates, what do you know about this stow¬ 
away ?” 

The Mate sat down, crossed his legs, covering 
his hands in his lap as though through habit, and 
leaned forward, his small narrow spaced eyes glit¬ 
tering. 

“It was the simplest thing in the world. You 
know we cast off as soon as that load of vegetables 
and groceries came aboard. As the tug dropped us 
and everything set, the heavy stuff was going be¬ 
low and the rest coming here to the storeroom, some 
one heard a yap from a basket among the small 
stuff coming this way. He was scared to death 
until we found it was a brat.” 

Captain Tilden dropped his chin; he was trying 
to decide where the Mate exaggerated and what 


32 


THE WHIRLWIND 


he was leaving untold. He decided to call the men 
and verify his report. 

“We can’t make back to port?” he asked, more 
to pump Bates, 

“Rotten luck to turn back!” the Mate exclaimed, 
at once agitated. “The wind is just right for the 
Tortugas and Straits. We would have to beat 
back; there every man would desert you—hoodoo, 
you know. How about touching at Key West? We 
wouldn’t lose no time that way.” 

“But who' is going to care for the child until we 
get there? It’s hard to find a wet nurse among a 
crew of sailors.” 

Bates smiled grimly; it was the Captain’s predica¬ 
ment, not his.—• 

“Well, when I came past the galley, the cook had 
it sitting on the meat block, sucking a rag teat.” 

The Captain lowered his head so that the shaggy 
brows nearly hid his eyes, and asked himself: “Did 
he, Bates, have a hand in bringing aboard the stow¬ 
away?” 

“We can’t have the brat forward among the 
crew, that’s a cinch!” exclaimed Bates. “If the 
cook will do it, why not let him come aft in my old 
quarters in the cabin until we can get rid of the 
kid?” 

He finished by jerking his thumb over his shoul¬ 
der toward the vacant room, and then restoring it 


THE WHIRLWIND 33 

under his cap. “Where does the cook spring 
from ?” 

“Mr. Simmons got him in New Orleans. He 
told me nothing of him except that he was a dis¬ 
charged convalescent from the Navy,” the Captain 
replied by way of inviting confidence. “How did 
the crew like his first mess?” 

“Passable, but he’s no sea cook.” 

“He doesn’t pretend to be. Soft on that half 
whine, Bates.” 

“Oh, I can eat anything.” 

“I know you can. Now, Mr. Bates, you will get 
the food that I do, and whatever it is, there’s to be 
no complaint. I know your reputation for rowing 
with the cooks. Every employment agency in Mo¬ 
bile knows it’s a disease with you. When I took 
you back, you definitely promised that my orders 
would be obeyed without change or even sugges¬ 
tion. If the crew complains about the cook, that’s 
important; report it to me at once, but you must be 
sure of the facts. In fact, I warn you that you 
are to stay out of the galley and let the cook alone.” 

“Oh, yes, I know—I didn’t mean that,” said 
Bates hurriedly. 

“Just so you understand. The cook is the only 
prospect we’ve got to care for this child. If he will 
not do it, we must go head into this wind and beat 
back to Mobile losing two or three days.” 


34 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“Simmons would be crazy,” gasped Bates. 

“Why wouldn’t he be?—however, we’re not go¬ 
ing back.— 

“Now, Bates, send in the man who first found 
the basket and any of the men who were there 
when he did. The log must be very complete about 
a thing like this.” 

“All right, Captain.” 

“Bates has changed heart like a skunk loses its 
stripes. Like that animal he can make an awful 
smell if not handled right, that’s plain enough,” 
said the Captain to himself, resting his elbow on the 
desk and grasping his forehead. 

He examined the men carefully, but learned 
nothing new.— Something moved in the basket; 
they reported it to the Mate, who took it at once to 
the cabin. All agreed that it must have come with 
the groceries, or about that time. 

“As you go by the galley, ask the cook to come 
in,” the Captain said when dismissing the last one. 
Jim came in, talking to the child he carried in his 
arms, and who had fed sufficiently well from a rag 
teat fitted to a small sauce bottle. 

He placed it back in the basket on the edge of the 
table. The Captain stepped in front of it. Uncon¬ 
trollably, his mind went back to his own child, now 
gone. But he quickly squelched the thought. Not, 
however, before the shaft had reached his heart. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


35 


The babe began waving its arms up and down as 
though it would fly, breathing audibly at each mo¬ 
tion. Tilden put up his hand; the child’s tiny soft 
fingers closed on his thumb, pushed and pulled. The 
man’s face lighted magically. This virgin innocence 
and trust made joyful tugs at his heart. 

Tilden looked at Jim, who remained waiting for 
possible instructions or orders. The boy’s face 
looked less emaciated as it lit up when his glance 
lingered on the basket and its contents. The twenty 
pounder had' won with him too, without force or 
speech. 

“Jim, two important items for the log—sex and 
age?” 

On the full but fever-marked lip a smile hovered 
a moment. 

“How old?—less than ten months, I should say— 
and—can’t you see it’s a girl?” 

“Um—m—yes—good and bad all at once. Girl 
at any age on a ship—” he resumed, leaving one 
hand in the basket. “Jim, we’re in a bad fix. A 
girl baby—my personal choice—but on a ship with 
fourteen men, outbound on a month’s winter voy¬ 
age, through war waters to a foreign port—no 
clothing or food for an infant except canned milk— 
time vital—” he hesitated and looked down at the 
child who was trying to get his great thumb into 
its mouth,—then back at Jim who ventured: 


36 


THE WHIRLWIND 


‘‘I have read that a baby has been a favorable 
omen ever since ships were—every man has peeked 
into the galley since—” 

“Eh—yes—I know; but submarines—we can 
touch at Key West in a few days and put it ashore 
there with little delay.” 

“She is good-natured, I think,” Jim ventured, 
sensing the Captain’s drift; “that ought to be man¬ 
aged.” 

“But your work will seem heavy at first—” 

“Oh, I think not; and she might keep me from 
getting lonesome.” 

“I was thinking—you see Mr. Bates quartering 
forward leaves an empty room here in the cabin 
which you could take for the time; between us we 
could manage until we touched.” 

“Oh, is that necessary?” 

“The forecastle is no place for a girl of any age. 
You move into the Mate’s room. We’ll get along 
somehow; we can’t go back to port.” 

“Til gladly do my best.” 

“Jim, that’s all the angels can do,” the Captain 
replied prosily, but jubilant. 

This time Jim took up the human burden with a 
nebulous yet distinct impression that its advent was 
distinctly important. 

“That boy is all right; dignity cannot be hidden 
any more than the leopard’s spots or the camel’s 


THE WHIRLWIND 


37 


hump,’* thought the Captain, observing the cook 
critically, but mighty relieved that he had cleared 
the hurdle without touching. 

With zest he turned to the details of commencing 
a hazardous voyage. The care of half a million 
dollars’ worth of floating property that had only 
a fifty-fifty chance of reaching its destination, was 
no light responsibility. 


CHAPTER IV 


Captain Tilden’s first night at sea satisfied him 
that being Master of a vessel was a load that still 
fitted his soul and the sturdy body that had earned 
him the sobriquet “Red Oak.’’ He was at once the 
governor and balance wheel of a machine composed 
of fourteen units drawn at random, all united, now 
in the act of transporting great money value through 
dangerous waters. 

He awakened easily and quickly resumed sleep 
as when he had left the sea years ago. Of the 
midget stowaway, though within easy sound, he 
heard nothing. How and why the child was placed 
aboard such a ship bound for such waters, and how 
he could humanely dispose of it, were problems for 
the next day. He might be overloading Jim, his 
cook, a most important unit, and thereby weaken¬ 
ing his organization besides doing great injustice 
to the boy. 

In the morning, however, after noting how taste¬ 
fully his breakfast had been served, and that Jim 
looked actually somewhat rested, his conscience 
dropped that whip. He realized again that conclu¬ 
sions reached late at night, especially just before 

38 


THE WHIRLWIND 


39 


sleep, had frequently to be reversed after break¬ 
fast. 

“How did you manage with the stowaway?” 

“No trouble at all last night, Captain, other than 
feeding it,” Jim replied in an improved voice. 

“How about clothes? There was little or no 
clothing, was there?” the Captain asked, beginning 
breakfast. 

“Clothing is a problem,” Jim began soberly. 
“The bottom of the basket was cushioned with some 
necessary things. The men are interested,” Jim 
went on; “and at mess this morning some of them 
offered garments to be remodelled, as they said, and 
two or three of them said they could sew.” 

» “Oh, I see!” the Captain exclaimed. “If they 
take an interest, our trouble will be quartered; an 
old sailor can do about anything if he wants to.” 

“They have named her ‘Princess Ann,’ and say 
she has to go on the articles and stand watch with 
the rest,” Jim volunteered, with the slightest twinkle 
in his eyes. 

The Captain was more interested in the cook and 
the stowaway than in the forecastle pleasantry. 

“An apron, though often a badge of servility, can 
ennoble,” he thought. The platitude had popped into 
his mind as he was making a critical, deliberate in¬ 
spection of the cook’s personality. 

Jim had somehow or other found time to shave. 


40 


THE WHIRLWIND 


His skin was fine, as was also his thick black hair; 
his femininely-arched brows might have been char¬ 
coaled. The tall bib of the apron held by a broad 
strap around his neck, concealed his chest. 

“If he were only as good below as he is above 
the shoulders, Apollo would rate second/’ was the 
Captain’s silent comment. 

“Well, Jim, if the weather holds, and I guess it 
will, we will be off Key West to-morrow night 
where we can land the youngster. In the mean¬ 
time, if it’s too hard—?” 

“Oh, it’s not too hard; the baby sleeps most of 
the time; the men said they would fix a place for 
her. The galley is plenty large enough and every¬ 
thing is convenient—I hope I can please the crew 
and—Mr. Bates.” 

“You have made headway with the men; I think 
Mr. Bates will be reasonable.” The Captain easily 
caught from the boy’s tone that Bates was either at 
it again, or was creating uneasiness in one of his 
many devious ways. 

“I will inspect during the morning and see that 
everything is all right,” the Captain went on. “We 
must be watchful for any signs of disease that we 
may have taken from here.” 

“Captain Tilden, do you mean that you want me 
to report anything I notice?” the cook asked. 

“Yes, anything affecting the crew’s health.” 


THE WHIRLWIND 


41 


Free from the superstitious beliefs in signs and 
omens that curse seagoing men, Captain Tiiden 
knew that safety and despatch depended solely upon 
equipment and knowledge of its strain resisting 
power, coupled with constant vigilance. 

He had often noted with amusement the ig¬ 
norance of the average landsman concerning the 
present-day followers of the sea. He had seen that 
his own dress and language were disappointing to 
the otherwise well informed. They doubted that 
he was a sailing vessel master because he did not 
have a rolling gait, exude salt, and red-nosed, con¬ 
tinuously nurse a bottle of rum; dress like a pirate, 
and use the semi-savage, thirteenth century sea 
vocabulary. 

Tiiden had been twenty years ahead of his time, 
but to-day he was gratified to see the educated, up- 
to-date men that were taking sea berths and con¬ 
ducting themselves as would any manager or super¬ 
intendent of an operating plant worth a half million 
or more. 

The fifth of November was the season when 
tornadoes and near tornadoes were expected in the 
Gulf region, and he knew he must brace him¬ 
self. 

Methodical and exacting to a punctilio, he had 
examined every sail, ring, stay, lashing and gear of 
every sort on and above the main deck, and ordered 


42 


THE WHIRLWIND 


some change. The first clay out he felt a singular 
relief as though the old life welcomed him back. 
The sea, itself, is always mild, gentle and loving. 
It is the sea’s enemy that makes all the trouble. 

It was past eleven in the morning before he got 
down between docks where the galley of the Durland 
was located amidships. Dinner preparations were 
in full progress, but at that moment Jim was not 
there. 

Astonished, he stopped with one foot on the raised 
threshold. It had not only been swept, but had 
been scrubbed and put in faultless order. The pots 
and polished pans and range were larger, but some¬ 
how the savory odor of the cooking and scrupulous 
neatness took him back not to the home of his mar¬ 
ried youth—an unpleasant memory softened by 
death—but to the days of his boyhood and his 
mother’s kitchen. 

“Odors are wonderful things,’’ he thought; “I 
believe Hell is separated from Heaven by the na¬ 
ture of its odors,” and he stepped inside. He 
seemed invited by the flashes of red burning fuel 
in the range. The galley was narrow but reached 
quite the beam’s length and was well lighted from 
both sides. 

“By Heaven, this boy is a find! Mr. Simmons 
seemed to be sure about him,” he recalled, and his 
estimation of the manager-owner rose. He got 


THE WHIRLWIND 


43 


half way across the galley before he saw it, then he 
suddenly came to attention and uncovered. Swing¬ 
ing well out of harm from the main deck beams 
near the open port side, was Princess Ann soundly 
sleeping. 

The Craftman’s hand had slipped in placing Cap¬ 
tain Tilden’s head on the broad base. It seemed 
to be too far back and more so now when he upheld 
his cap and elevated his big square chin with de¬ 
light at confronting the child. 

Suspended by four canvas ropes was a sail cloth 
sling so cleverly wrought that with a slight adjust¬ 
ment, the Princess had either bed or chair that would 
remain perpendicular whatever the position of the 
vessel. 

When the Captain heard Jim's footsteps, he was 
still drinking in the child’s face, hesitant to move 
outside its angelic aura. 

Jim seemed afraid to smile as he put down an 
armful of canned goods, but his eyes gave evidence 
of his pleasure as he waited for the Captain to 
speak. 

“The men have it cleverly rigged,” was Tilden’s 
comment in a subdued voice. 

“Yes, they must have made it during the night; 
they brought it in this morning. She makes no 
trouble; never cries. They made another rig just 
like this for the cabin room, but Mr. Bates would 


44 


THE WHIRLWIND 


not let me put it up as he said she—it—-would go 
ashore to-morrow.” 

“Your galley is perfect, Jim,” Captain Tilden 
observed, glancing about, apparently unmindful of 
the implied question in Jim’s last remark. 

‘Til have no trouble now after getting it once 
cleaned,” the cook said with a slight pride in his 
voice. 

“Yes, with a good start and a little care, you 
can always be shipshape.” The Captain then went 
forward and passed through a small door in the for¬ 
ward bulkhead, wondering if the convalescent cook 

would be able to keep it up. 

It is so essential to have a distinct picture of the 
forward part of the barquentine that a landsman s 
locution will be adopted as an aid. About midway 
between the bow and stern, down one flight of nar¬ 
row stairs on the extreme left—port companion way 
—from the main-top-deck, was the ship’s kitchen 
—galley—a narrow room reaching across the vessel 
except space for the stairs from above, and a pas¬ 
sageway towards the front end of the ship, which 
for convenience and fire protection must be kept 
clear of obstruction. 

Along the passageway, forward some hundred 
feet, about thirty feet from the extreme bow, was 
an iron watertight partition—bulkhead—reaching 
clear across the vessel. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


45 


In front of this bulkhead was the crew's quar¬ 
ters and an upright steam boiler coal bin and— 
donkey—oscillating engine used for loading and un¬ 
loading. The coal bin was left of the passage 
against the vessel's port side. 

Captain Tilden had just entered through the 
only opening in the bulkhead and was in front of 
Bates’ room. The iron partition formed one side 
—the coal bin the other. It was made of undressed 
lumber, and was narrow, dark and most uncom¬ 
fortable looking, but it gave him easy access to the 
galley and was within hearing of the bunks. 

The Captain passed by, respecting the privacy 
of his Mate’s quarters. Several times during the 
day, however, he wondered about his choice. 

On small American ships the Captain and Mate 
stand watch and watch usually four hours on and 
four hours off. 

“Mr. Bates, I don’t like the way this mizzen sail 
behaves; there’re indications now of some lively 
weather. Bend on the new one while the weather is 
good,” instructed the Captain when Bates came on 
watch at noon. 

‘That sail has been on for a long time and stood 
some bad blows,” demurred Bates. 

The Captain’s lips came together. He walked to 
the weather side watching some light clouds scud¬ 
ding across to the westward, read the log, and passed 


46 


THE WHIRLWIND 


back of the Mate without a reply and went below. 

“We ought to be off Key West in twenty-four 
hours if the wind doesn’t change/’ he said to him¬ 
self, cocking his ear for movement above. Bates 
was obeying his order, but from his voice which 
he caught occasionally through the open skylight, 
he seemed to be astride a peeve. The Captain won¬ 
dered if this would happen every time the Mate got 
an order. 

Captain Tilden regarded a ship's crew as a big 
family which one nagging, pessimistic, gossiping 
member can keep in a perpetual state of unrest and 
semi-gloom which is inefficiency personified—a tre¬ 
mendous economic loss besides the unhappiness of 
being thus constantly bedeviled. 

He ate his mid-day meal mostly in silence. He 
wondered why he had not seen the child or heard 
it cry but did not ask Jim, who was there as 
usual. 

He made up his log and prepared for a nap: 

“If I only had a woman on board—three or four 
hours’ loss, possibly more at Key West before I can 
properly dispose of her. I will not just toss her 
ashore even for the sake of the ship.— Anyhow,” 
he pondered, “God gives life and His inscrutable 
ways of guiding it and bringing it to flower, I my¬ 
self can never fathom—why, for instance,”—he 
pondered again for the thousandth time—“did I 


THE WHIRLWIND 


47 


have to lose my only child on whom I would have 
lavished every care, when other children apparently 
far less fortunate, are let live, only to starve, or 
perhaps become criminals?— 

“Prudence—yes, after exercising prudence, God- 
given with life,” his mind went on, “why worry, 
why try to usurp the function of the Infinite who 
provides amply for every created thing? Life h^re 
in this world is but the primary school; we go< to 
advanced grades in the next as soon as we are 
ready.” This comforting thought stayed with him 
as he slept. 

He awoke in time to take the deck from Bates 
at four. Again when he went down at six, he no¬ 
ticed about the waiting table a daintiness so- uncom¬ 
mon at sea. During this watch, a wind held but 
toward eight o’clock a change was indicated. 

“The mercury is sinking, Mr. Bates—be on the 
lookout for a change,” he said when the Mate came 
up promptly to relieve him. “Call me if there’s any¬ 
thing big.” 

If Bates replied, Tilden did not hear him as he 
went below. He didn’t care particularly as he knew 
any change would awaken him, which it did an hour 
before his time to go on deck at midnight. 

He heard Bates bawl out an order to double reef 
—he could not hear what. Slippered and in his 
sleeping clothes only, he hurried up on deck after 


48 


THE WHIRLWIND 


glancing at the clock, barometer and list of the ship. 
He saw who was at the helm. He glanced into the 
binnacle and went to the log. The topsails were 
all in and everything reefed. The wind had drawn 
to the westward, increasing to a gale. 

“She’ll carry the reefs; let her run as she is,” he 
said pleasantly enough. Captain Tilden could see 
the visor of Bates’ cap pointing down, but could 
not see his face. 

“It’s coming stronger—we’ll lose the cloth.” 

In the Captain’s ears still rang the owner’s final 
injunction: “Speed—despatch!” 

“What’s a cloth?” the Mate heard above the 
gale. 

In the three words were contempt and a reminder 
that he did not want advice when there and able 
to see for himself. 

Captain Tilden, while watchful as a cat, dressed 
deliberately, and ate some cold food which Jim had 
left on the table before he took the deck. The gale 
held pretty steady. The bark heeled farther, but 
she was going her best toward Spain. 

“Never mind the bills but deliver the cargo!” he 
heard again. 

“Now is the time to test her—she’s got to stand 
the flog; I’d rather break her here in the Gulf than 
wait until there is worse danger added to bad 
weather,” Tilden muttered to himself. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


49 


He went up again, read the log and returned to 
estimate his position. Bates and the man at the 
wheel were drenched by seas breaking across the 
deck. 

“Six hours more—about daylight—on this course 
and we’ll round the Tortugas light; then with wind 
astern we'll shoot into the Straits; anchor in the 
roadstead, send the child ashore—” Here he halted. 
For the first time he tried to work out the details 
of disposing of a tiny living thing. Was it the 
trouble and necessary delay that made him frown? 
—Who would he leave it with ?—that is, who would 
take it? At that moment he could only think of the 
Police Department. Jim had given him the impres¬ 
sion that it was no more trouble than a kitten or 
canary to take care of. 

When Bates came to relieve him at four in the 
morning, in the darkness he seemed funkish and 
fearsome. 

“Is that man frightened? This is not a real 
storm—perhaps I imagine it,” Tilden thought.— 
“Two hours more and we’ll take it astern,” he en¬ 
couraged the helmsman as a sea struck and solid 
water was carried far over the vessel. Bates turned 
his back to it and grasped the wheel. 

Tilden did not turn in and as soon as daylight 
came, he made his way forward examining the 
chain lashings of the deckload. 


50 


THE whirl;wind 


“If this doesn’t move it, nothing will,” he assured 
himself when he found them all intact. “Before 
breakfast we’ll have it astern,” he repeated to the 
lookout forward, holding on the lifeline with him. 
“We should pick up the Tortugas light soon.” 

When they rounded the light which brought the 
wind fairly astern, every one was glad. They could 
now have a hot breakfast. Mainsail and foresail, 
wing and wing, and top royals only reefed be¬ 
fore a gale that might merge into a tornado, but 
was just now rushing them right on their true 
course. 

“Little more than fifty miles to Key West,” the 
Captain breathed; “and if it were not for the stow¬ 
away—impossible—impossible to keep it aboard— 
well, anyhow when ashore I will report to'Mr. Sim¬ 
mons,” was his train of thought. 

At six he sent Bates below for an hour to rest 
a bit and breakfast. 

Captain Tilden sat down on the stern rail. 
Nothing animate or inanimate within his range of 
vision escaped him. He saw Bates peer cautiously, 
stealthily, from the forecastle companion like a 
prairie dog or a woodchuck. 

“Surely that fellow is yellow—my God!—have 
I got to go into the zone where our chance is sailing 
through a real storm—” He looked back—giant, 
hissing seas from the Gulf into the shallower waters 


THE WHIRLWIND 


51 


of the Straits of Florida would come as though 
they would break over the stern rail where the Cap¬ 
tain sat watching the Durland’s head point to dark, 
flying clouds half zenith; then rush, gravity and 
wind driven down into the trough, headed for the 
bottom until her head was three to five fathoms into 
solid green sea; and then sturdily, joyously, like a 
playful monster sea fowl, raise her head, throwing 
tons of water back over her deck. 

Wind or water did not seem angry to him; never 
did. Wind was air rushing to where more air was 
needed to establish an equilibrium. The needful 
was seam, stick and sail, sound and living. 

A good sailor knew the strength of his seam, the 
pressure per square foot his sticks and sails would 
stand and stop before the limit is reached—and if 
the barquentine would not stand this, what would 
she do in Biscay, the unreliable? 

Tilden’s mind reverted to the child. 

“I don’t believe the smallest thing in Heaven or 
on earth is accidental—why was that child put 
aboard?— Maybe to force me to call at Key West 
for something; but if—if this wind holds, I will 
lose time; I would pass there pretty fast.— No— 
nothing of mercy; just ordinary decency demands 
the child be landed.” 

He raised his glasses; he could now see the Gov¬ 
ernment Station on the Tortugas; they were display- 


52 


THE WHIRLWIND 

i. 


ing storm signals. He could dimly see vessels of 
all sizes in lee shelter. 

“If I’ve to run with bare poles, I don’t care— 
so long as it’s in the general direction of Bilboa, 
Spain!” was his all compelling thought. 

Bates stayed below the full hour. 

“Tousled, dirty, unshaven, unslept—yellow, cring¬ 
ing yellow is plain in his dark, cloudy eyes,” the 
Captain concluded the moment he saw him. 

“Goin’ to keep that royal up?” 

“Yes, let the royal stay—if it shreds another goes 
in its place; that’s what I got spares for,” inter¬ 
rupted Captain Tilden, promptly anticipating the 
Mate’s question. “Everything but the sticks, Mr. 
Bates.” 

“The steamers have made the lee—” 

“Mr. Bates, I know that, but we are running 
for northern*Spain, and on the last leg we’ll pray for 
weather worse than this—right the way she’s pointed 
now.” 

Before the Mate, could reply, he went below, took 
off sea boots and oilskins and prepared for break¬ 
fast. Even before he was ready, Jim brought it in 
steaming hot. 

He wondered as he greeted him.— 

“Jim, did you have trouble with the galley fire be¬ 
fore we brought the wind astern?” 

“Yes, almost impossible; had to stand and hold 


THE WHIRLWIND 


53 


both coffee pot and fire when the deck went straight 
up; but now her pitching doesn’t bother.” 

‘‘Did you get much water in the galley?” 

“Not very much.” 

“How does Princess Ann stand it?” 

“Little children are good sailors; I suppose you 
know that. Maybe I did wrong, Captain Tilden— 
Mr. Bates did not approve of it. I put up the swing¬ 
ing crib in the room here in the cabin and she slept 
right through—and I slept through too,” he added, 
as a sort of confession. 

“Perfectly right—how is Mr. Bates interested as 
long as you’re in the cabin? By meridian we’ll be 
able to put Princess* Ann on solid ground again at 
Key West.” 

“Who will get her?— What will become of her 
then?” asked Jim. 

The Captain looked sharply at him—the voice 
had been unmistakably tender in. tone. He had to 
brace himself at the table. The seas were worse as 
they advanced. The vessel would dive for the bot¬ 
tom, then recover- so quickly that the cabin deck 
quite fell from under them, leaving them in mid¬ 
air. 

“Key West is quite a city and must have—” 

“She’s such a little thing—and the men have made 
clothing—” Jim interrupted in cautious but appar¬ 
ently unstudied appeal. 



54 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“Jim, you know where we’re bound?” 

“Yes.” 

“And I suppose Mr. Simmons told you—he had 
to tell you—why there’s a bonus?” Tilden asked 
again warningly. 

“Yes, a bonus means danger—” 

“Did he tell you that it’s about an even bet that 
the Durland goes to the bottom, and if we are not 
hurt by a torpedo—should it strike the ship—we 
will be in open boats in mid-winter until rescued?” 

“Yes; I suppose—I have noticed the boats are 
provisioned—” 

“Well, it being half for and half against, we must 
be prepared for the worst—the open boat and 
storms. What could perishing men do with an in¬ 
fant, when struggling for their lives?” 

“The men are all interested except Mr. Bates. 
Sometimes men will work—I have heard they work 
hard—to save a little girl child.” The quiet simplic¬ 
ity of his urging in his thin mending voice; his 
frail depleted body that withal accommodated itself 
lithely to the violent pitching of the ship, were not 
lost on Captain Tilden. 

He was having trouble with his coffee—he had 
to pour it as he drank it from a pot anchored to a 
sea trough in which his breakfast had been served. 
He glanced sheepishly at Jim to see if he noticed 
when the Captain brushed the moisture away. His 



THE WHIRLWIND 


55 


own little girl he had watched woefully, helpless 
to stay the going. 

“Jim, another thing you may know. We are 
going to Spain, poverty stricken, and weak, clubbed 
into an outward appearance of neutrality by the 
Allies, but under the table she is grasping the Ger¬ 
man gold laden hand.— No, it’s better for the 
child, and better for us to put her ashore at Key 
West.” 

“With the whole crew, except Mr. Bates, willing 
and eager that some safe way could be managed?” 

“I’d like to keep her aboard, Jim—I really 
would. Sometimes our feelings—impulses—must 
let reason decide. IT1 see at Key West about having 
it kept until the return voyage when we can pick 
her up and take her back to Mobile. I can’t think 
of conditions that would justify a parent in doing 
anything so unusual as this—” he was interrupted 
by the Mate calling to him to come up. 

“Have her ready to go ashore about noon, Jim,” 
the Captain called back, as he hurried up the com¬ 
panionway. 

Bates, with nervous, shaking hand, offered him 
the glasses and pointed to a row of black spots in 
the sea to the northward, visible only when the 
ship was on the crest. What was it about Bates’ 
hands that repelled him so, the Captain asked of 
himself. 


56 


THE WHIRLWIND 


He look the glasses from the Mate with madden¬ 
ing deliberation. He waited for the ship’s head to 
come out of the green sea and rise again to the full 
force of the hurricane, yet without raising the 
binoculars. He went over to the log. So sure was 
his step that his feet were iron clamped to the deck 
wherever planted. He stood before the speed 
recording instrument while the ship rose, and slid 
down ’mid two giant seas. 

Bates ambled over to him excitedly, bellowing in 
a state of wild excitement: 

“The sails will go any minute.” 

Captain Tilden raised the glasses and held them 
long. The row- of black spots, about three miles 
to the north, were the Tortugas, a continuation of 
the Florida Keys. 

His view though made intermittent by the rise 
and fall of the barquentine, was of fishermen’s shan¬ 
ties unroofed; and their boats were either piled on 
the beach, or adrift. Sailing craft on the lee side 
evidently had extra anchors out; steamers too, had 
taken to shelter though fired and smoking, ready to 
run if they dragged anchor. 

Tilden scanned his own ship, then looked at 
Bates. 

“Mr. Bates, double reef.” 

“Impossible to reef—men will carry away. Aren’t 
the poles enough?” 


THE WHIRLWIND 


57 


Captain Tilden for reply moved away. He 
wanted to give the order himself and send the Mate 
below for insubordination. Instead he continued: 

‘Til take the deck now; stay forward and lepd 
a hand until eight.” 

Bates, thus propelled, leaped from the poop rail 
to the deck load and went hurriedly forward. 

“His liver is chalk, I’m sure now—a hell of a man 
I’ve got. This is exactly the kind of weather we 
must have to make the zone; he shows yellow all 
through. I was mistaken—he’s not even a seaman. 
Two years with this bark and I’m the sixth Captain. 
Whatever it is, Bates, you must show me.” 

He wanted the best man at the helm,—he sent 
for Sturgis. 

Even with Bates working, it took over a half 
hour to double reef. The wind increased. He ex¬ 
pected the royal to go, but he didn’t care. He or¬ 
dered another ready, also the main and mizzen sails 
—they might go too. Forging ahead at express 
speed, up to the Straits towards Key West like a 
hydroplane or a prehistoric sea fowl—it was no har¬ 
bor—little more than an open roadstead. 

“I can anchor, land the stowaway, and run with¬ 
out taking a tug,” thought the Captain. 

Captain Tilden laughed when at last it went. 
The royal burst into shreds like the boom of a 
cannon that made Bates start as though a shot had 


58 


THE WHIRLWIND 


struck him. The man on watch didn’t mind bend¬ 
ing the new one—their “old man” was proving 
game. 

Faintly he could now see the lighthouse and the 
low buildings off Key West ahead. The tall palms 
bowed, strained and quivered with seeming grief and 
pity for the angry elements. Spray from the bow 
of the rushing Durland smartingly reached his face. 
He could see Sturgis at the wheel in front of him 
grit his teeth when it struck him. 

“He’s got more guts than Bates,” was the Cap¬ 
tain’s thought. 

The Durland flew as though all the devils in Hell 
perched upon the seas that momentarily threatened 
astern. 

In another half hour—yes, right now the on- 
rushing air was losing its teeth. There is a marvel¬ 
ous difference between a decreasing motion and an 
increasing one, though the decrease is but slight. 
Heavy clouds came. 

“If it begins to rain, then I’ll know we’ve got 
clear outside the big twister; we’ve had only the 
very edge anyhow,” thought the Captain. 

“Sturgis, steer straight for the lighthouse,” he 
instructed, and started below satisfied. 

The cabin was empty; Jim’s door was ajar. He 
expected to find him there with the child, ready to 
land. He pushed the galley buzzer. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


59 


Jim came as though his thin legs were lead, and 
stood just outside the door, reluctant and pale. The 
Captain was looking at the barometer as if inspira¬ 
tion was to be had from it; his face was burnt and 
red as though the spray had been live flame. 

“Jim, we have evidently been in the edge of the 
storm and are now running out of it. Have every¬ 
thing ready; we’ll leave from the stern. You can 
go ashore with me, can’t you?’’ the Captain asked, 
still looking at the glass and wiping his face. 

“Yes, I’ll be ready, sir.” 

“That boy acts as though the child were his,” 
Tilden thought as he returned to his watch. Mo¬ 
mentarily a queer suspicion flashed into- his mind, 
but he thrust it from him. Somehow he felt like 
a brute, but at times men in authority have brutish 
duties. It had to be. 

The velocity of the gale continued. He had been 
in the harbor many times. It was easy to make if 
one knew how. Coming up the roadstead as they 
were, a mistake was so easy. He went over to the 
wheel. To be sure he would explain; he wanted to 
talk with some one anyhow . . . 

“Sturgis, we keep on this course to within twice 
the ship’s length of the lighthouse; then when you 
get the order, starboard the helm enough to clear 
the jetty about a half the ship’s length only, and 
we slip into the harbor.” 


60 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“A port helm would send us out to sea?” Sturgis 
asked absently, to fix the movement in his mind. 

“Yes, a port helm is the seaward course.” 

“It seems a big loss—we’re making such good 
time now,” Sturgis ventured with a little more than 
usual interest. 

“Yes, but we’ve got to—” here the Captain 
glanced around and saw Jim in navy uniform sit¬ 
ting on the top step of the companion way with 
Princess Ann in his arms. 

“He seems used to children,” the Captain re¬ 
flected. 

Captain Tilden looked at the lighthouse less than 
half a mile away, and saw Bates making his way 
aft over the deckload, and the men on watch as well 
as those who should have been asleep, gathered 
about the forecastle gangway, like chickens coming 
out after a storm. 

He walked over towards Jim who was fondling 
the baby. It was so trusting, so tiny and helpless; 
so completely unaware of what was going on around 
it. It could not know that the ship’s crew was 
centering upon it, and the heavy laden ship being 
maneuvered for it. 

The sailors had sacrificed their clothing to provide 
raiment. Two little soft quilts cleverly wrought 
from sail cloth were rolled up and laid on the deck 


THE WHIRLWIND 01 

with the skillfully, painstakingly made swinging 
crib and chair. 

The Princess was in splendid humor. The sail¬ 
cloth cap, startlingly clever, neatly made and 
stretched over a form, fit the little head as if cast 
for it, and it made her look older. As the Captain 
approached, she looked full at him, brought both 
tiny fists up, straightened her back and smiled as 
she had the first time he had looked at her in the 
basket. 

The Captain was startled—by what, he could not 
define. The second time, and at a crucial moment 
she had smiled at him as if she knew* and reasoned 
adultly; but this time it was as though Jim had the 
power and made her do it. 

Outwardly unobservant and stoical, he returned 
to the wheel watching the approaching turning point 
at the lighthouse. Three ship’s lengths more only! 
Bates had come to the quarter deck. Captain Tilden 
could see men from the lifesaving station just be¬ 
yond the lighthouse, looking at the barquentine as 
a phantom racing with the storm, depending on no 
slightest mishap in such wind. 

Captain Tilden as if magnet drawn, moved back 
toward Jim and the baby. Jim was looking down, 
sorrowful enough but manifestly resigned. The 
wind had eased, but was yet a stiff gale. 


62 


THE WHIRLWIND 


The Captain stood near looking down at the help¬ 
less infant, then faced about. With his head well 
back, and affixed to the deck by an invisible weight, 
all unaware that every eye and mind on the ship was 
on him, he gazed at the lighthouse ahead. Fifty 
feet more and he must give the order to go on the 
jetty. The men watching by the lighthouse held 
their breath aghast—was the Captain crazy to come 
so close? 

“Port your helm!” came the sudden, order, just 
loud enough for Sturgis to hear, and who, though 
an old seaman, had thought the order would never 
come. He glanced at the Captain, as he threw his 
weight on the wheel to see if he had heard aright; 
he had, of course, expected a starboard helm that 
would take them into the harbor. 

“Hard over!”—but before he got the order, the 
ship’s head began swinging to the port, dashed 
within a few feet of the lighthouse jetty and headed 
seawards—on to Spain with no stop intended until 
they touched the Azores. 

Bates almost ran across the deck. 

“How are you goin’ to get the brat ashore now?” 
he bawled, unguarded, as though by this act their 
positions were reversed and he were the Cap¬ 
tain. 

To Captain Tilden, however, he was as though 
non-existent, as he took up the megaphone and in a 


THE WHIRLWIND 63 

full, round, penetrating voice haled the Lighthouse 
Tender: 

“Report Durland bound for Bilboa, Spain—all 
well aboard.” 

The men at the lighthouse were puzzled when 
cheers from the crew followed this speech. 

Jim’s eyes filled. He gathered the Princess Ann 
and her belongings and was quickly disappearing 

below when he became aware that Bates’ fiercely 

© 

glittering eyes followed him. Tilden faced the 
Mate stonily. 

“Mr. Bates, it’s twelve; take the watch. Make 
full sail—your course now is northeast by east, half 
east!” 


CHAPTER V 


The Captain went below and took off his sea 
boots and oilskins and made his entry in the log. 
He sat back in his chair. His thick body filled it; 
his head came forward, his chin down as far as it 
would come. His pupils now near the upper lids, 
sensed nothing. 

“Am I really fitted to be Master of a ship?” he 
asked himself. He knew his heart had melted for 
the child—why, he did not know; pure sentiment 
maybe. He should have sent her ashore; her pres¬ 
ence would cause no end of trouble and it was cruel 
to take a child on such a voyage, but he still heard 
the crew cheering him for not sending her on land. 

He knew every man had seen Jim* gather the bit 
of innocence in his arms with the rapidity and grace 
of grief suddenly assuaged, and the tears he had 
tried to hide. They had all, except Bates, given him 
a glance of thanksgiving, registering devotion and 
loyalty. 

“Have I made a mistake?—I don’t believe it!—If 
loyalty could be weighed, measured, and packaged 
marketably, it would bring ten thousand dollars the 
pennyweight. By this act have I not won the crew, 

64 


THE WHIRLWIND 


65 


and what is that not worth on a voyage of this 
kind? Every one except Bates, and he is a per¬ 
fectly rotten limb. I wonder why he tries to hide 
his hands.—He is an ass—he steers like a ship with 
nothing but headsails, but withal, cunning; I am 
sorry I brought him. 

“Wonderful, wonderful is the Providence of God 
on land and sea!” This thought brought peace; 
he was again in clear light. A waif, a stowaway, 
embryonic mother of generations of humanity, at 
once a leaven for good and the strength that would 
bind rough-hewn men into a single unit, with a 
single purpose, was how the Captain now clearly 
saw the little child. 

He arose slowly and went to the room occupied 
by Jim. He tapped lightly—no response. He 
opened it gently; yes, the babe was there, asleep on 
Jim’s bed. Vaguely he recalled Jim’s going; it was 
mess time. Tilden entered the room wondering at 
the perfectly relaxed, helpless, virgin innocence, and 
as soon as within its sphere or aura, there came a 
singular joy. 

“Would every one return to a similar innocence 
in the life to come that they may convey this beati¬ 
tude?—If so, what delight,” was his reflection. 

Gently bidden by its soul’s angelic guardian in 
sleep, the child opened her eyes upon the man with 
such a massive upper body standing near. It raised 


66 


THE WHIRLWIND 


one pinkish hand about the size of the end of the 
Captain’s thumb, and hesitatingly let it drop. Then 
it raised both arms and one little foot. Captain 
Tilden awkwardly reached over and took the child 
in his arms. He felt the warmth of its. soft, tender 
body as it pressed against his great chest. It cud¬ 
dled there and became part of him, as a beautiful 
tender vine clinging to and beautifying a rugged, 
massive oak. 

There within the sphere of innocence of the babe, 
his heart swelled; his dry, parched soul, denied the 
lasting fructification of paternity, was strangely 
watered; its withered folds magically opened and 
glowed serenely. 

The uncomprehended moved him out past the 
table Jim had laid for him, through the chart room 
to his curtained bed. Against the white pillow he 
tenderly sat the babe, then stepped backward to bet¬ 
ter view her. Strangely impelled, he sank slowly 
upon his knees. Taking his eyes from the infant, 
he bowed his head. 

One's thoughts when all alone, uninfluenced, re¬ 
veal one’s attitude toward God and the created 
world. They come then from our ruling passion, 
be it desire or be it love; every human soul has a 
special motivation. 

The Captain did not hear Jim enter, as his foot¬ 
fall too had softness of touch. Jim, in moving 


THE WHIRLWIND 


67 


around the table, somehow glanced through the 
parted curtains and could see the child and Captain 
Tilden kneeling before it. He tiptoed out of the 
cabin, smiling to himself at the Captain’s spon¬ 
taneous self-revealing attitude. 

In a moment more, Bates bawled down the com¬ 
panionway raucously, resentful: 

“Sail is all made, sir.” 

The Captain came back from the big world where 
charity rules, into this little one to cope with malice, 
revenge, hatred. 

Bates’ small, narrow spaced, grayish eyes, wrin¬ 
kled and cross-seamed face and talon-like hands 
mirrored a diseased, unnatural soul that thrived on 
hate. Hatred always produces wrinkles. 

When the cook returned with the food, the Cap¬ 
tain was at the table. Princess Ann’s tiny body 
was ranged across his barrel-like chest, drawing 
vitality with each concerted gentle breath. The 
great heart beneath it, pumping rhythmically and 
true, drew the tiny one into the same time and tune 
with such force that the baby became a part of the 
man, and when Jim reached for it with tender 
grasp so that the Captain could eat, the tiny arms 
and hands, so soft and velvety, tried to hold on, and 
fretted as it might if deprived of celestial support 
and care. 

The real function of the Mate of a ship—the first 


68 


THE WHIRLWIND 


officer—is as working advisor to the Master. At 
least he should be of sufficient capacity and parts to 
act as a foil—something for the Master’s mind to 
react upon. 

Captain Tilden felt keenly not having such a per¬ 
son on board. Bates, in addition to being impossible 
in such a capacity, the Captain was sure he had to 
be closely watched as a poor seaman and a craven. 
Jim’s hints also indicated that he was easily capable 
of mischief. He had, however, a bravado that 
misled for a time. He had been Mate of the Dur- 
land for two years and had worn out five captains. 
Captain Tilden definitely decided he would find out 
the reason why. 

“This man—no man, nor any number of men 
shall stand in my way. I have taken this ship to 
reestablish myself on the sea. I have signed to 
take ship and cargo to Bilboa and return, and shall 
do it if humanly possible,” was Tilden’s mental vow. 

He had decided to touch at the Azores and there 
wait for a favorable moment to break across the 
last of the Atlantic into the Bay of Biscay; a water 
no cargo vessel would enter without convoy protec¬ 
tion from submarines, which, however, in a con¬ 
tinued storm were little better than surface boats. 

Favorable sailing weather prevailed and they were 
making record time. As they worked north and 
east, as usual at that time of the year, the Atlantic 


THE WHIRLWIND 


69 


was turbulent, but not enough to prevent them mak¬ 
ing good time. From the Azores to the coast of 
Spain he wanted the wildest weather ever produced. 

Three or four days after leaving the Florida 
Straits, Captain Tilden was making daily inspec¬ 
tion, during his watch from eight to twelve. Thus 
employed, he had halted in the gangway. Through 
the tiers of short timber, from the cabin to the 
galley companion way, there came the sound of 
voices. At first it was indistinct, but when he came 
closer to the opening, Jim’s voice, clear and distinct 
brought him up short. 

‘‘Mr. Bates, I know your sort and being Mate, I 
cannot stop your nasty tongue, but you can go too 
far even with that—” His voice had suddenly 
grown steady and ominous, but well controlled. 

Amazed that Bates would violate his definite 
order, Tilden’s first impulse was to indignantly face 
him in the act, but on second thought he shook his 
head and turned away. 

Bates had a maggot on the brain that was now 
working. A nasty scene was being enacted in the 
galley. He had one leg across the corner of the 
galley table like an impudent rough neck. Princess 
Ann was asleep, swung in the opposite end of the 
galley. Jim stood between them with his hand 
resolutely on the drawer that held the big galley 
knives. 


70 


THE WHIRLWIND 


Bates gave a coarse laugh. 

“Oh, I see, you little snake; you think your bite’s 
poison. HI toss the brat overboard like a rat, and 
spoil your game living in the cabin!” 

Had Captain Tilden heard this, he would not have 
been able to resist the itch in his hand for a hold 
on Bates’ scruff. 

“Mr. Bates, men like you are hard to please. I 
know your kind—your cheap tricks. I am doing 
my best to please every one. You can’t understand 
that, but this may sink into your brain: You, or a 
whole colony like you will not frighten me—but if 
you attempt to touch that child with those hands, I 
am ready, and you will find it out!” 

“I’ve heard such noise before, lots of times,” cut 
in Bates, but without energy. The thunder in the 
attitude of the slim, spare boy had reached him, 
but as some one not quite sane, he continued and 
leered back through the galley door: 

“You’re fiddling on the wrong string. You think 
the Captain can save you, but he’s—” his voice 
dwindled away. 

Jim did not hear the finish, he was so relieved 
that Bates had gone. He got out his dust cloth. 
Where Bates’ leg had touched the table he applied 
the cloth vigorously as if he had left filth or vile 
contamination. Suddenly he stopped, his mind 
more tolerant. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


71 


“Maybe he can’t help it,” and his cloth passed 
over the surface gently, almost coaxingly, but the 
steely glitter did not wholly leave his eyes. 

“In this short time the quarrel has become a 
feud,” the Captain decided while going back to the 
deck. 

Although Jim invariably stood by during his meals 
and had every opportunity, even invitation, he had 
not more than hinted at friction with or his dislike 
for Bates. At such times, the chat was about the 
waif, castaway, the tiny human life brought to— 
or thrust upon them. Any human being is an end¬ 
less source of speculation because possessed of an 
intelligence of infinite creation. Yet there are some 
who think they know something about human be¬ 
ings, including themselves! 

Neither by tone, accent, glance, gesture or word 
did Jim give any hint of a previous knowledge of 
the child, or how it came to be stowed away on 
such a timber ship bound into such waters. That 
Bates had such knowledge was neither confirmed 
nor dispelled by his behavior, which was both brutal 
and vulgar. 

Bates’ conduct appeared neither cautious nor tact¬ 
ful and yet that might be only an artful blind. 

“I don’t see quite enough of him,” reflected the 
Captain. “Why, for instance, he quarters forward 
in that hole instead of the cabin, I must know. 


72 


THE WHIRLWIND 


Better let him think I’m easy a little longer.” 

When Bates came on watch at twelve, he gave 
no hint of having had a row with the cook. It 
was fresh in Tilden’s mind, however, when he went 
down for food. 

“Jim, when looking over the ship this morning, 
I did not get as far forward as the galley. Is every¬ 
thing snug?” he asked casually, after a time. 

“I think so—the best I know,” replied Jim easily, 
glancing towards the skylight through which Bates 
could probably hear. 

“Jim, are you improving in health?—your color 
is better.” 

“Oh, yes, and I know* I’m stronger.” 

“Are you eating? You must do something to 
flesh up and fill those breeches; they flap like you 
were hove to in a gale.” 

Jim looked away. 

“Give me time,” was all he said. 

“How is the Princess?” 

“She could not be less trouble—eats and sleeps 
as though born at sea.” 

“Does the crew still show interest?” 

“Oh yes, more than ever. They are working on 
something for her all the time. Isn’t it remarkable 
how many nice things they can make from pieces 
of canvas and rope? They made some underwear 


THE WHIRLWIND 


73 


somehow by drawing threads from sailcloth, pluck¬ 
ing and pounding it soft as down/’ 

“M-m—yes. Devil take him—the Mate seems 
to be against her? ,, 

“Well—” Jim glanced at the skylight again and 
slightly lowered his voice—“children evidently ir¬ 
ritate him.” 

“Some of the crew, also?” 

“No, not one—the crew is all right.” 

“Then Bates is not very strong in the fore¬ 
castle?” 

“They laugh, and like you, say he has only head 
sails set and goes in a circle.” 

Tilden’s eyes lit up. 

“That’s their way of saying he’s short some¬ 
thing.— Do you serve Mr. Bates’ meals in his 
room?” the Captain asked after some moments of 
silence. 

“Yes, sir, exactly the same as I do you; I supposed 
you wanted it that way.” 

“And with that he complains?” 

“Well, sometimes I think he tries to live up to 
the reputation of Mates, but I think—well—some¬ 
how I know that Mr. Bates is unbalanced; at times 
anyhow—” 

“I would like to know as soon as Mr. Bates at¬ 
tempts to abuse any one.” 


n 


THE WHIRLWIND 


‘Tie wouldn’t go far without your knowing it/* 
Jim replied, meeting the Captain’s steady gaze for 
a moment. 

Jim did not change as the days went on; the 
crew was with him. His care of the child who had 
their devotion almost to the point of worship, set 
him apart from the other men, and gave him a 
measure of the awesome respect they held for the 
babe. 

Although the Captain felt that Jim could con¬ 
verse intelligently, it was difficult to draw him into 
conversation. Tilden knew that the friction be¬ 
tween Bates and the cook had not ended, but Jim 
seemed to think that this was a problem for his own 
personal solution. The care of the child and his 
duties as cook completely absorbed his time but 
the work seemed to agree with him and his health 
improved rapidly. 

Seventeen days at sea and they were approaching 
the Azores with a steady wind approaching a gale. 
Captain Tilden on his usual morning watch sent 
for Sturgis, the carpenter, who had made a good 
record. 

“I want you to go with me to inspect cargo; 
she’s under the strain now of full sail and some 
sea—anything working loose now will show.” 

They began in the cabin storeroom. Sturgis was 
grizzled and had one stern black eye slightly out of 


THE WHIRLWIND 


75 


line with a smiling blue one. One was continu¬ 
ally in doubt which eye reflected his thoughts. 

The carpenter stood looking down the galley’s 
companionway waiting for the Captain to finish 
examining the last tier of timber next to the fore¬ 
castle. From where he stood Tilden could only 
see Sturgis’ black eye staring fiercely down the stairs 
toward the galley, as if the ship had broken in two 
amidships and the forward part had already gone 
down. He then 1 saw him gather himself as if to 
spring down, and then as slowly, relax. 

“What is it, Sturgis?” 

The man did not seem to hear. 

Alarmed, Captain Tilden started toward him. 
Jim with the Princess, came up past the carpenter 
and hurried into the cabin. 

“We’ve been expecting it,” mumbled Sturgis, still 
looking galley wards. 

“Expecting what?” Tilden moved up beside the 
carpenter. “What’s happened?” 

Sturgis breathed deeply. 

“Such a bear cat—he took my breath from me,” 
nodding his head vigorously at the mystified Cap¬ 
tain. Incoherently he tried to explain as they pro¬ 
ceeded to the galley.— 

“The Mate—there’s something wrong—you ought 
to know—the thin, wiry kind like the cook, look 
like sissies but fight like tiger cats when cornered—” 


76 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“What’s happened, man? Wake up—talk!” Til- 
den grasped his arm. 

“It all happened in a moment. The cook was 
shaving in the gangway. The Mate came from 
behind—threw him and darted into the galley. Quick 
as a cat the cook jumped up and followed him. 
The Mate came out hell bent with the Princess in 
his arms. The cook followed, struck him with a 
galley knife, tore the Princess from him, and flew 
to the cabin.— The Mate’s gone to his quarters 
bleeding.— The cook’s all right, but he—he—” 
Sturgis stopped when he saw the Captain looking 
at a small mirror tied just outside the galley. Nearby 
was a mug and brush with fresh lather on it, and 
on the deck was the razor with safety attachment, 
full of lather. The carpenter picked it up and gave 
it to the Captain. In front of the galley was the 
blade of a twelve inch butcher’s knife—a much 
used tool in the galley. 

Sturgis picked up the severed handle with a 
grimace of horror. 

Tilden picked up the blade, tested its edge with 
his thumb and glanced knowingly at the carpenter. 
While the knife was not stained, a little farther 
along the gangway towards Bates’ quarters there 
jvas fresh blood on the deck. 


CHAPTER VI 


Captain Tilden laid the blade and handle of the 
knife on the galley table, and the razor beside the 
mug. 

Princess Ann’s combination chair and crib was 
empty. The galley was scrubbed to a polish. Al¬ 
though in his mind was a sweeping gale, the Cap¬ 
tain moved slowly. Vitally important to his en¬ 
terprise was the fact that the Mate was both hated 
and ridiculed by the crew; that he had assaulted the 
child and cook. The cook had stabbed him—per¬ 
haps to death—incapacitating him anyhow. 

“With this kind of a cargo, snug and tight as 
it is, Captain, even if she filled I believe she would 
still answer her helm,” Sturgis remarked as they 
walked forward towards the bulkhead. They passed 
through the door and were in front of Bates’ quar¬ 
ters. Sturgis elevated his brows and sniffed; an 
odor came from within, but no sounds. 

This box-like affair between decks, without a 
deadlight, between coalbin and bulkhead, was the 
only part of the ship Captain Tilden had not critic¬ 
ally examined, and as they passed it he wondered 
why he had so far respected Bates’ privacy. 

77 


78 


THE WHIRLWIND 


When they returned to the cabin, he asked Stur¬ 
gis to stop a moment. 

“Why have you never tried for something bet¬ 
ter, carpenter?” he inquired of Sturgis with an idea 
working in his mind. 

“Oh, you see I’ve no education and I’m too old 
to start.” Ruefully he added: “You can't teach an 
old dog —” 

“To the devil with that stuff, carpenter!” 

Sturgis not only halted in his speech, but dropped 
his jaw. The Captain dropped into a chair, fingered 
some papers, then turned with a sly smile. 

“Sturgis, the man who said that lying thing first, 
and those who quote it, ought to wallow in Hell 
until their souls all but perish. They have done 
untold injury. You’re no dog, nor any part of a 
dog—unless you’ve been made to think so, and if 
you were, it’s still a lie. Old dogs, as a matter of 
fact, are taught easier than young ones. How old 
are you?” 

“Past forty, sir,” the seaman replied quickly. 
Turning to look seaward, his laughing blue eye 
only, was visible. 

Sturgis would attract no attention among sailors 
were it not for that fact that when he was fitted 
with eyes, by some error or design they were grossly 
mismated. The Captain was measuring his ample 


THE WHIRLWIND 


79 


body and face, his grayish unkempt hair and beard. 

“Sturgis, if you’ll work for it, you can be a 
Master before you quit the sea.” The carpenter’s 
head dropped forward. Captain Tilden smiled. “A 
razor and a pair of shears would make you look 
and feel much younger—try it,” he urged, and 
started to the deck with the sextant. 

“Land ho—port bow,” called the forward look¬ 
out as soon as he saw the Captain. 

Instantly the Captain took up the glasses and 
scanned the sea to the northward. It looked like 
the shadow of a cloud, but the sailor knew. He 
returned below and examined the chart. It was 
the barren coral islands near his course approach¬ 
ing the Azores. He was making this entry in the 
log when Jim came out of his inner room and 
stopped at the door. 

The Captain glanced a welcome, completed the 
entry, shut the book and turned about. Jim pushed 
the portieres further back. 

After adjusting them, his right hand grasped their 
folds. His attitude suggested that he was forcing 
himself, subdued, yet brave. 

“Come in and sit down, Jim; you look tired.” 

“Captain, I want to tell you about the trouble I 
have had with the Mate.” 

“I know all about it, Jim, except just how it 


80 


THE WHIRLWIND 


started, and that doesn’t interest me. The Princess 
is all right or you would have said so at once.” 
Captain Tilden looked at the cook intently. 

Jim met his eyes unafraid, then looked down. 
His feet crossed and his hands in his lap, he sat 
on the chair, leaning slightly forward. 

“Well, suppose—suppose I have killed him?” 
he asked, his eyes still casting downward, but in a 
courageous voice. 

Tilden narrowed his eyes as if to resist a smile. 

“He will be buried at sea; the log has got to show 
everything. When we get back to the States—if we 
ever do—a court will examine the record, and that 
will likely end it, as self-defense is so evident. But, 
Jim, he’s not dead—and he’s not going to die—his 
sort don’t quit so easy. You will never be able to 
charge your hand with slaughter; though it must 
have taken a terrible blow to break that knife— 
and that’s just the point; a knife never breaks when 
its toll is death.” 

“Then—then—” 

“No—no—it’s not so bad; the crew is all with 
you. I not only warned him, but made him promise 
to stay clear of the galley. In your place I believe 
I would not have done so well.” The Captain 
brought his hands together, resting his elbows on 
the arms of the chair, then dropped his chin and 
eyes and went on slowly, definitely: 


THE WHIRLWIND 81 

‘‘Go about your work as usual; I will look after 
the Mate.” 

If Jim had attempted to say anything more than 
“Thank you,” as he started, his voice would have 
broken. 

“One moment, Jim—was the child hurt at all?” 

“No—she’s sleeping.” 

When Jim had gone the Captain went up on deck 
to try and discover if Bates had method behind his 
actions. He felt that he had, but so far he was in 
the dark regarding it. 

Jim came on deck to announce that dinner was 
served. 

“I will be down soon, Jim,” the Captain said. 

He then sent for Sturgis, 

“Take the ship, Sturgis; run as she is. We’ll be 
at anchor in eight or ten hours.” 

Sturgis glanced at the compass, then followed 
the Captain to the companionway. 

“I—I—maybe you’d like to know that Mr. Bates 
is not hurt so much; he’s moving about anyway 
and using smelly medicine.” 

Captain Tilden had stopped on the third step and 
the carpenter had stooped low to speak to- him. 

“Who told the crew, Sturgis?” 

“The lookout saw the cook come up, and the 
Mate left some blood, you know.” 

“They know about all?” 


82 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“Yes, an’ he wouldn’t be safe in the forecastle or 
even in his own quarters, if one or two that’s asleep 
now, knew—the Princess has become queen now.” 

“The crew is all—” 

“To a man, Captain; they’d go with you to Hell!” 

“All right, Sturgis; keep a wary eye.” 

“Jim,” he began as soon as he was seated, “you 
have always served Mr. Bates his meals?” 

“Yes.” 

“Where ?” 

“As he asked me to; I put the tray just inside 
the bulkhead, and rapped on his door.” 

“To-day as usual?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then you have never been inside his room?” 

“No—never.” 

“You did not know Mr. Bates previous to sail¬ 
ing?” the Captain pointedly asked. 

“No—I did not even know that his kind of per¬ 
son would be permitted to live, before I came 
aboard.” 

“Have you any reason to believe that he knows 
anything about the Princess?” 

Jim met the steady eye of the Captain and held 
it unflinchingly. 

“No, none.” 

“Then why the frenzied dislike?” 

“Oh, he's been afflicted—this bad streak in him is 



THE WHIRLWIND 


83 


a left-over. I just happen to be the one he takes it 
out on.” 

“He seems to have some cursed plan though, 
Jim.” 

“Yes, I get the same impression at times; some¬ 
thing perhaps with which the child or I interfere. 
I know I have done everything reasonable, yet from 

the start he has shown hatred for the child and 
>> 

me. 

Thoughtfully, Captain Tilden finished eating as 
Jim looked out upon the great banked cloud of 
sail, each thread of which was now pushing them 
on to destiny. 

“About as comfortable as having a rattlesnake 
on board; glittering eyes that see an enemy in every 
one; spare, sinuous hands, a chalky skin creased 
deeply and crossed with wrinkles;” the mental pic¬ 
ture of his Mate gave the Captain an unpleasant 
feeling. 

“Everything right for Biscay and the zone, but—” 
his teeth came together hard and his eyes grew 
stony until he decided that Bates must stay in his 
hole, or go in irons. 

“Jim, did Bates take his food to-day as usual?” 

“I have not looked.” 

The Captain went on deck. 

“Sturgis, go forward and see if Bates has taken 
in his dinner tray.” 


84 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“Aye, aye, sir.”— 

“The men say he took it in right away, and that 
he is still using that smelly medicine,” Sturgis soon 
reported. 

As the afternoon wore away, they neared the 
Azores and a little after dark anchored in the road¬ 
stead within easy reach of the guns of the Portu¬ 
guese Fort. The anchor watches had been set; the 
Captain was hurrying over the' side to go ashore. 
There were no other ships in the harbor and he 
was suspicious. 

Bates, with lagging' step, came up. He nodded 
weakly to Tilden. 

“Captain, I’m not feeling right—I—ought to 
go ashore and see a doctor.” 

“All right, Mr. Bates, the small boat is alongside 
now; you can go with me, if it’s serious.” 

“Oh no, I can wait.” Bates leaned against the 
rail, looking down. “I will go as soon as you come 
back.” 

“Perhaps I can get a doctor to come aboard.” 

“No—no—I want to get a few things too—how 
long will we be here?” 

“I don’t know,” Tilden replied vaguely, going 
down the ladder to the boat. “He is not very badly 
hurt, or he would go now,” he thought. 

In a half hour he returned hurriedly. He sent 
for Bates at once. In a few minutes he got the 


THE WHIRLWIND 


85 


report that the Mate had gone ashore in the small 
boat alone. 

The information he had obtained on shore was 
most disquieting. Submarines were operating as far 
south as the Azores. Wireless warnings were be¬ 
ing constantly sent out; even fishing boats had left 
and hidden themselves. 

The Commandant of the Fort advised him that 
his position in midstream, thirty fathoms, was peri¬ 
lous. 

Suddenly inspired, Tilden called for the carpen¬ 
ter. 

'‘Sturgis, we are in great danger lying here; take 
charge forward. Muffle the capstan—raise the 
hook without a sound—all hands to making sail!” 

“Aye, aye, sir.” Fie started, then turned back. 
“I—I suppose you know, sir, that the Mate is ashore 
in the small boat?” 

“Yes, Sturgis;—I hate to lose the small boat.” 

Sturgis’ blue eye twinkled as he fairly sprang 
into the gangway forward. 

It seemed but a moment until the Durland drifted; 
then as if by magic, her mainsails rose and she was 
caught by the piping wind they had had all day. 


CHAPTER VII 


It was cloudy and quite dark. Lights out, the 
barquentine, an intangible phantom, gained speed. 
Every man was jumping, electrified. The schooner 
rig was quick. From port to starboard Captain 
Tilden measuredly moved; his face, as though so 
delivered into the world, was pointed forward. 

A spare figure wriggled out of the darkness. 
“That you, Jim?” 

“Yes, sir—of course you know about Bates?” 
“We were in danger, and—” 

Jim came closer to the Captain: 

“But do you know—” 

“Know what?” 

“I think he didn’t intend to come back.” 

“You mean he’s deserted?” Tilden grasped the 
cook’s arm. 

“He took a bag and bundle, and—” 

“And what else?” On Jim’s arm, small boned 
but firm fleshed now, his hand tightened to urge 
his story on. 

“No—wait; let’s go below.” 

A small shaded light on the Captain’s desk 

scarcelv revealed the cook’s figure. 

86 


THE WHIRLWIND 


87 


“Jim, this is no time for qualms—the ship—our 
lives—what else do you know?” 

‘‘Captain Tilden, I am trying to tell you. As 
soon as you started ashore, Mr. Bates came to the 
cabin—I took the Princess Ann and kept her in the 
galley—but what could he have wanted here?” 

“Just a minute, Jim; get Sturgis.” 

In less than a minute the cook returned with the 
acting Mate. 

“Sturgis, have double cloth put over all the cabin 
lights and let me know if Bates’ quarters are 
locked.”—Then to Jim: 

“Jim, you think going ashore to the doctor was 
only a stall?” 

“He may need a doctor, but he walked all right 
and handled the boat.” 

“As soon as I can see in here—what could he 
have wanted in the cabin?” 

Sturgis burst into the cabin with the report that 
the Mate’s quarters were locked. 

“Both of you come.” 

Tilden took up the hooded light, blew it out, and 
started forward. In front of Bates’ door he lit it. 

“See if you can shoulder it, Sturgis.” 

Twice Sturgis tried his full weight against the 
door before it flew open. Captain Tilden with the 
light, stepped inside. The place was just long 
enough for a bunk, and narrow. In fact the Cap- 


88 


THE WHIRLWIND 


tain’s bulk about filled the hole Bates used in the 
place of first cabin quarters. 

He turned slowly. At Jim and Sturgis he glanced 
sharply—then another complete circuit. 

“Sturgis, and you too, Jim, can see his dunnage 
is gone. He’s deserted. Sturgis, padlock this door 
and give me the key.” 

“Aye, aye, sir.” 

“You come with me, Jim—that cursed smell,” he 
muttered as he turned away from the Mate’s nar¬ 
row quarters and went to the cabin. 

Sturgis asked the Captain to light up, that he 
could be sure the cloth covered everything. 

How could he clear Bilboa, a Spanish port, with¬ 
out a licensed Mate?— But why think of that now 
with eight hundred graveyard miles yet to go ? 

Jim had lit the lamp swinging over his desk. He 
heard Sturgis about the skylight. He went on deck. 
After a turn across and a glance at the compass, he 
returned. 

“That infernal smell here too—the same as in 
Bates’ quarters—the cursed thing clings to my 
clothing!” 

When Jim went out of the cabin, closing the 
door softly, he sniffed audibly. 

Captain Tilden had left the sea twice—the first 
time it was to undertake a business partnership. 
After two years the partner had Tilden’s life sav- 


THE WHIRLWIND 


89 


ings and Tilden had had two years of very exciting 
and valuable experience. The second time was to 
fight for the life of his child, his only living rela¬ 
tive. 

These two periods had broadened and expanded 
him—especially had they fixed his belief regarding 
destiny. He reasoned that inconceivable to finite 
man, the world was created and managed in all 
detail. Even man would not create a machine and 
not provide the necessary power and lubrication 
for its smallest moving part. He had acquired 
added contempt for the idiomatic nomenclature of 
seamen. He scorned those who permitted signs, 
omens, portents to incapacitate. He reasoned that 
bad luck originates in a man’s own heart, and is 
soon converted into good, when so viewed by those 
whose minds are open at the top and closed below 
to infernal influence. 

Tilden’s head was inclined forward as one at 
prayer. In reality it was a mighty effort to hold 
himself rational as something within him com¬ 
manded. Jim remained within call. 

“Jim,” Tilden began slowly as if he had just de¬ 
cided him to be dependable, “there’s something 
wrong with this ship. Everything I can see from 
shoe to topmast is right. She is carrying full sail 
in a gale; making upwards of eleven knots; and 
the crew is working with full hearts; but I can’t 


90 


THE WHIRLWIND 


rid myself of the impression that something’s 
wrong. I don’t believe in augury but I do recognize 
premonition as a fact. Do you notice a peculiar 
odor here in the cabin ?” 

Jim came to the door between the dining room 
and the Captain’s quarters. The ship was taking 
heavy seas on the quarter, giving it a corkscrew mo¬ 
tion. 

“I did not notice it until after we anchored— 
until Mr. Bates left. It has a metallic pungency; 
I have been trying to classify it but I can’t.” 

“I can think of a tinker, a tinner and a flux they 
use—but I’m afraid we both imagine it—too much 
excitement, Jim.” 

“I have been trying—that is—what did Bates 
want here in the cabin just before going ashore?” 

“Was he here long?” 

“No, only a few minutes.” 

“Is anything disturbed?” 

“Nothing, Captain, though I haven’t looked 
thoroughly. Could he get anything from your 
desk?” 

“No, I keep the drawers locked,” but the Cap¬ 
tain bent down and tried each one, then looked at 
the cook more puzzled still. 

“His manner indicated some definite purpose, I 
thought.” 

“Jim, we can see now that Bates planned to 


THE WHIRLWIND 


91 


desert at the Azores. He seized upon seeing a doc¬ 
tor as the best excuse; a crooked mind cannot be 
thorough or methodical. I am going forward to 
look about. A snake has wriggled out of the ship 
and taken the, small boat; but this darned odor I 
can’t classify. It’s like the odor of making coffee 
with bilge water in a chemical works.” 

Jim’s lips parted; a smile lurked about his mouth, 
the first the Captain had ever noticed. There was 
something magnetic, loyal, reassuring about it. Sub¬ 
consciously the Captain wondered, but the thought 
did not become formulated. Jim’s eyes followed 
the Captain as he arose to go and search for¬ 
ward. 

To ride a plunging, rolling ship, those sturdy 
legs and that casquelike body had been supremely 
fashioned. The Captain’s feet fastened to the deck 
where they fell; his shock covered head would be 
carried with dignity on the way to the guillotine. 

He halted, scanning the cook with new interest. 

“Jim, we are now in the danger zone; any mo¬ 
ment we may hear the shot or the torpedo that will 
send us down. Strange as it may seem, our safety 
is in storms—violent storms that the Bay of Biscay 
now in winter time, is sure to furnish. Are you 
ready?— Have you got the Princess ready to take 
the small boat on short notice?” 

“Oh, yes, the men have talked of nothing else; 


92 


THE WHIRLWIND 


they seem more interested in Princess Ann than in 
themselves.” 

“An open boat will be bad enough, Jim. The 
wireless station on the island sounds half-hourly 
warnings. Torpedoes infest the Bay of Biscay 
that we are now crossing; if we only get wind and 
more wind. I do not think I ever wished for storms 
before. Storms to the submarine are as frost to the 

fly.” 

Captain Tilden went forward suddenly wondering 
why he talked so freely to the cook. It was the 
child, of course, and the cook’s care and interest in 
it. Every man on board was bound by the one 
interest. 

“It is making us all act as one,” was the Cap¬ 
tain’s thought. 

Bates had left plenty of evidence that he was 
badly knife cut. Most of a bed sheet had been 
used as bandages. The Captain was down on his 
knees, back towards the door examining a quantity 
of blood-stained strips pulled from under the bunk. 
Jim’s voice suddenly sounded behind him, so tense 
and strong the Captain at first failed to recognize 
it. He turned quickly to face the boy. 

“Captain—come this way quick; the ship’s on fire 
in the cabin!” 

As though made of hard rubber and violently 
agitated within, the Captain bounced. Putting out 


THE WHIRLWIND 


93 


the oil lamp, he rushed to the main deck and aft to 
the cabin, as fast as the total darkness and the mo¬ 
tion of the vessel would permit. 

Jim was somewhere there ahead of him holding a 
towel to his mouth. 

“There—there—” his voice came chokingly, 
pointing excitedly to a narrow door not much more 
than a panel opening into the ‘Counter/ It was 
used only by the oiler to get at the stern post, rud¬ 
der head, tiller, tiller chains and guides. With oil, 
grease, and no ventilation, it never was sweet; now 
a noxious, pungent fume which affected the nose 
and throat, poured from it, as smoke. Jim had dis¬ 
covered it when the Princess had begun to cough. 

Captain Tilden quickly wet a towel, and with it 
covered his mouth and nose before starting for the 
panel door in the wooden bulkhead. When he heard 
the child wail and cough, he suddenly stopped. In¬ 
drawing his breath, he took the wet towel from his 
face and pointing gave it to Jim. In the excitement 
he had overlooked the fact that opening the panel 
door made it worse and the child’s delicate lungs 
might not stand it. 

The Captain’s bulky chest held ample air while 
he got another wet towel. He saw Jim rush for¬ 
ward with the babe. He thought of opening the 
doors, but free oxygen might make it worse. He 
squeezed through the narrow opening. 



9 4 


THE WHIRLWIND 


For a moment, as though face to face with death, 
he was transfixed, his eyes on the wrought steel 
rudder post. The heavy forged tiller was fastened 
to it by mortise and tenon. Immediately over it, 
with the neck downward, a sixteen ounce bottle 
was cleverly suspended. Its contents dropped slowly 
on the steel rudder head. 

With each drop a thinnish white vapor with the 
stifling gas, arose as the metal was dissolved as ice 
plied with hot water. Soon the rudder would 
weaken and with the strain of the unusual seas that 
the ship was now in, it would be useless—the ship 
lost! 


CHAPTER VIII 


Tilden with astonishing deliberation cut down 
the bottle and worked back through the panel. 

All the doors were thrown open and copious oil 
poured on the rudder where the destructive acid had 
been dripping. 

The cabin was soon free of the fumes as the 
wind had again become a gale. 

With great care the Captain preserved the bottle 
for daylight examination and was about to resume 
his search of Bates’ room when the fouling weather 
called him back to the deck. 

Daylight the next morning still found him there. 
His prayer for storms had been promptly answered. 
Straight on her course she struck the seas mountain 
high, so that she both rolled and tossed. The gal¬ 
ley fires went out repeatedly and everything fluid 
was taken out of hand. 

“Of course we can’t swear it was Bates, but we 
know it was he—” Tilden had left the deck and 
was sipping the steaming coffee just taken from 
Jim. 

“It has so many aspects—so many questions 

are—” the cook hesitatingly began. 

95 


96 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“I know—I know. As soon as we pass this 
weather I’m going into it. He had to prepare for 
this in Mobile—and what for—damn him!—and is 
this all?” 

“When the Princess coughed I was sure fire—” 

“Fire or no rudder would be the same now, Jim. 
Your eyes show no sleep last night either, making 
soup and coffee for the men.” 

“Oh, it was not so hard on me—it’s the men. I 
thought they would surely go overboard.” 

“Yes, it was hard. I worked them constantly;— 
had to. Shortening sail is always a tough job. The 
sail she’s got now is going to stay unless her seams 
open. Can you stand it two more days, Jim? If 
the subs don’t punch us, or some other accident hap¬ 
pen, we’ll be in still water then.” The Captain 
began on his breakfast in the trough before him. 

“Oh I can, yes, but how about you? This is 
your second day without sleep. Can’t Sturgis—?” 

“Sturgis has done enough; he must sleep; but if 
she holds steady—” 

“If the wind holds steady, why couldn’t I stand 
watch? I could wake you for any changes, or— 
or—” 

“Jim, this is dirty weather. The subs hug the 
base, or hunt the lee now. Jim, we’re making speed, 
despatch—” the Captain’s eyes held a triumphant 
light. “Since we left the Azores yesterday we have 


THE WHIRLWIND 


97 


mostly been ‘undersea.’ Unhandy in the galley, 
Jim?” He had guessed that the galley fire, utensils 
and food had many times seemed possessed of the 
devil’s cunning to exasperate and discourage. 

“Jim—Jim—” Hot food, warm cabin and ex¬ 
haustion were combining against the Captain. A 
less vigorous mind and sturdy body would have 
broken before. 

“Yes, what is it, Captain?” and Jim came closer. 

“Don’t let me sleep. I’ll rest a bit—there’s a 
good man at the wheel now.” 

The Captain’s eyes were closed. The lids quiv¬ 
ered as though malignant forces closed them against 
his will and at his imminent peril. No one can 
understand this who has not been under a breaking 
strain three or four days without sleep. Devils 
from Hell league with an exhausted body to freeze 
resolution, unseat prudence, and finally shut the eyes 
and mind. 

Deliriously, he went on: 

“She’s got to carry cloth until the poles strip, and 
then more—more goes on, Jim. The storm— 
storms—our life is in the storms!” 

Jim disappeared from his room, then reappeared 
with the Princess, putting her on the Captain’s bed. 
When the Captain opened his eyes, he saw Jim en¬ 
veloped in his oilskins, sea hat and boots. 

“Jim, if you’re going to be my First Mate, you 


98 


THE WHIRLWIND 


must have a better fit than that.” Up to that mo¬ 
ment, he had never thought of making him a Mate. 
Why he did then, was never clear to him after¬ 
wards. 

Jim laughed—a short delicate note of a night 
songster. Though half unconscious, Tilden knew 
that it was the first audible laugh the cook had 
given since coming on board. 

“Well, Captain, the boots are not so bad, nor the 
hat; but the coat— Now, Captain, the Princess 
is on your bed; she’ll roll off unless you watch her. 
I will report the moment you are needed.” Jim 
hesitated at the companionway; he saw the Captain 
stagger toward his room and the child. 

“Don’t forget, Captain, I will report any change.” 

As he had said, the Captain’s boots and hat were 
passable but the oilskin coat fitted him like his jacket 
would have fitted the Princess. The helmsman saw 
trouble ahead and wrapped a rope about him. 

Jim was used to the violent motion of the vessel, 
but was quite unprepared for the wind that swept 
the unprotected poop deck. His first thought was 
that nothing could resist it. The ship offered her 
shoulder to the immense waves that swept her. Her 
jib boom and even the head sails would penetrate 
them; then as if suddenly suspending resistance as 
useless, her head would violently toss skyward, so 
swiftly and so far that Jim thought she would sink 


THE WHIRLWIND 


99 


stern first, or would topple backward. Instead she 
hesitated doubtfully, finally descending, settling 
more and more on her port beam until her decks 
became vertical; then with a most discourteous 
corkscrew motion, the Durland would plunge again 
into a canyon of water. Water by the ton came 
over the bows and deck load of timber. 

The Captain’s boots he might wear, Jim decided, 
but the hat, never—at least not successfully. But 
the fact that its owner knew so well the power of 
that wind and wave, and so accurately gauged the 
resisting power of the weakest part of that combi¬ 
nation of inanimate material—hull, sail, cable and 
chain—aroused his admiration and gave him con¬ 
fidence. He watched the water, fascinated. It 
ceased to be angry; but only determined. With 
these conclusions came the exhilaration of the ad¬ 
venturer. 

To be certain about both man and child, he slipped 
below. Captain Tilden was asleep on his side, in 
shirt and trousers. He had drawn the human mite 
close to him—so close one could scarcely know it 
was there. Jim smiled when he saw it so perfectly 
protected by his long arm in the space between the 
bulging chest and his raised knee. Though his 
fatigued body was unconscious and inert, the child 
beside him seemed to give his soul power over every 
man on board, as well as the wood, steel, iron, sisal 



> > > 


100 


THE WHIRLWIND 


and cotton of the ship, which was not only resisting 
the tumultuous sea, but was making record progress 
towards its port of destination. 

Jim left them with the smile still on his lips. 
His plan had succeeded. He could not talk to the 
man at the wheel without shouting in his ear. Both 
were frequently enveloped in heavy spray that came 
as blinding snow. The awesome grandeur of the 
stupendous wave and howling wind was enough. 
Then there was the valiant barquentine which 
laughed at the thumping, twisting, pitching sea, 
while putting the tempest to' good account. Fasci¬ 
nated and exhilarated, he hated to go below when 
he recalled that he was still the cook. 

The child and man were awake. The Princess 
was crooning and using the Captain’s forefinger to 
lift herself clear of the bed. 

“Well, Mate, how is the weather?” Jim glanced 
at him and inwardly smiled. Even with so little 
rest over-seriousness was gone. “Devil take it!— 
Biscay is a winter corker! A periscope now is about 
as good as steam heat in hell. Jim, feed the men 
well and pray Biscay’s dirtiest weather will stick 
with us, and we will be discharged and gone be¬ 
fore Bates can make port.” He took up his boots 
and oilskins. “The damned beast!” he muttered, 
recalling the Mate’s last act. 



THE WHIRLWIND 


101 


Jim stood bracing himself between the jambs of 
the door. 

“Will he try to follow us?” he asked. 

“I think so. His papers and hard luck story 
will get him by. He can’t stay there and he will 
want to know if his hellish game worked.” 

“Won’t he be afraid?” 

“Ah—Bates is a rat. I’ve just placed him in 
the animal world while I was asleep. It is hard to 
get a rat out of a ship for once and all. They are 
cunning and bold and will take a coward’s chance 
when driven close. They live in filth and yet when 
they come out of hiding, look sleek. But why— 
why does he want this bark to sink?” Captain Til- 
den had drawn on his boots and buttoned the heavy 
oiled coat. “No one would pay him to sink this 
kind of a cargo—if we had munitions, yes.” 

“It is the work of simple depravity whatever he 
expected to accomplish,” said Jim bitterly. 

“Nothing else, Jim.” Captain Tilden tossed aside 
his sea hat instead of putting it on, .and turned to 
the curtain behind which the Princess was making 
herself heard. Emerging with the mite in his arms, 
he voiced his thought: 

“This is the mite who sent you on a hunt, or 
right now we’d be in the boats—or worse. No, Jim ; 
nothing just happens. This baby was provided to 


102 


THE WHIRLWIND 


save us—hey?—you foot-and-a-half sailor—the 
best hand on the ship!” The Captain raised her 
high above his head then brought her over to the 
cook. Kissing her tenderly on either cheek, he laid 
her gently in his arms. 

“Captain, did you finish examining Bates’ quar¬ 
ters? Should they be cleaned?” 

“No, I haven’t, Jim, not more than to be sure 
he was deserting. You’re right, Jim; they should 
get a good dose of Formaldehyde!” The Captain 
moved to scrutinize all the instruments, and then 
went on: 

“The mercury indicates—well—this blow may 
turn into a hurricane. As soon as it’s over we’ll 
examine Bates’ quarters. I saw a lot of used ban¬ 
dages, and being a rat—you know—” While talk¬ 
ing, the Captain had resumed his sea hat and in¬ 
terest in the instruments.— 

“Jim, you’re right. Both beam and head motion 
is about the same. N-o-o—” he mused, “this won’t 
last,” scanning the barometer; “we will soon be 
shortening sail if we don’t bare the poles.” The 
Captain looked at Jim and then at the child as if 
expecting both to respond. Instead, as though tak¬ 
ing up a cue, a heavy gun fired amidship. 

The Captain started to the deck exclaiming: 

“How in the name of Heaven could that happen 
now?” 


THE WHIRLWIND 


103 


He was stopped by Sturgis bursting into the 
cabin. 

“The main mizzen sail has carried away—it’s 
been tampered with—it’s as rotten as cheese!” 


CHAPTER IX 


“Sturgis, bend on a spare; we want every knot. 
Pass the word to the men that there’s foul weather 
ahead. When you’re ready, we’ll luff just enough 
to get it home.” 

Captain Tilden had scarcely finished when “Aye, 
aye, sir!”—and Sturgis was gone. Again the Cap¬ 
tain’s eyes met Jim’s. 

“How can sail and rope he tampered with?” 
asked the cook, his burning eyes the only evidence 
of his inward excitement. 

The Captain’s head dropped forward. Looking 
up through his shaggy brows in serious thought, he 
replied slowly: 

“I guess the same stuff—the acid he hung over 
the mortise tiller will destroy anything. Diluted 
it would act slowly,—but I don’t see how Bates had 
the time—” 

Sturgis burst into the cabin again. 

“The spare is full of holes and so rotten a breath 
would carry it away!” he exclaimed. 

“The main and mizzen sails are the same size— 
there’s two spares for each; try another.” 

In his hurry, Sturgis slammed the door shut after 

104 


THE WHIRLWIND 


105 


him. Into his chair at the table Tilden sank, glanced 
at Jim, and then looked intently at the child: 

“When we sailed, this ship and gear were right. 
Fortesque the Surveyor knew it, and I know it!” he 
muttered. “It’s been done since we sailed. Bates 
could hardly handle this alone—” he paused and 
then continued: “No, I don’t believe Bates unaided 
could do it—and whoever helped is now aboard. 
Spanish John is a possibility—-Bates talked with 
him often. What will I do if all the spare sail is 
ruined ?” 

The Captain got up and went into his room, 
looked slowly at the chronometer and barometer, 
then turned and stood between the two rooms. 
Again he stared at the infant Jim was holding. 

“If our sail spares are useless, we will trust in 
God and pray this near-by hurricane will strike and 
keep us moving with bare poles.” 

Jim looked down, moved slightly and drew a deep 
breath. Both men turned anxiously toward the 
companionway door; they heard Sturgis coming 
back. 

“The next one was all right!” he exclaimed when 
he entered. “We’ll soon be ready to luff!” 

Captain Tilden followed Sturgis to the deck. Jim 
took the Princess to her accustomed swinging chair 
in the galley while he prepared the noonday food. 
Still aided by the fearsome gale and storm, the Dur- 


106 


THE WHIRLWIND 


land continued its rapid way. So far through the 
medium of a little child, she had successfully re¬ 
sisted the plans of Bates or those he might repre¬ 
sent. 

During the next forty-eight hours, Captain Til- 
den had a chance to neither rest nor sleep, or scarcely 
eat. Not even fragmentary thoughts were possible 
except of their immediate safety. 

Every movement proved so perilously exciting 
that the limit of human endurance seemed frequently 
reached. The storm drove them generally towards 
their destination; at times with bare poles, but the 
moment it eased the least small sail was ordered 
until she was staggering under full sail again when 
the fag end of the storm came. 

The crew understood that the storm was the 
lesser of two evils, and they were willingly worked 
to complete exhaustion, when the Spanish Light¬ 
house was sighted. 

Jim was the wonder of the entire crew. No one 
but a deep sea sailor can fully understand the dif¬ 
ficulties of preparing food for a dozen worn-out and 
hungry men in a small, narrow kitchen that was at 
one moment on its side, the next on its end, and 
never vertical—no practical way of confining fluids 
or overcoming the shifting gravity of burning coals 
and kitchen utensils on a stove nearly as antiquated 
as a plow made of a crooked stick. No major im- 


THE WHIRLWIND 


107 


provement had been made in the ship’s galley since 
water was first boiled. 

The prepared food would roll from the range and 
begin a pendulous motion with the roll of the ship 
from one end of the galley to the other. Potatoes, 
onions, carrots and boiled beef, with pot and pan 
containers, if unwatched, would soon carom from 
one end of the galley to the other in an unsightly 
mass. 

When Captain Tilden picked up the lighthouse 
at Bilboa, his face did not change expression—he 
experienced no thrill. He had been looking for it 
for some time. He moved as one so reduced by 
fatigue and loss of sleep that for the relief of them, 
he would have been glad to welcome the oblivion of 
death. 

He did see the admiring and approving glances 
of the crew who gathered about the forecastle and 
he vaguely knew by that, that he had done well. 
He had sailed through Hell and brought his vessel 
and every stick of timber cargo within sight of the 
harbor; more, he saw the pilot boat and tug coming 
out to meet them. Both had been looking for him. 
He would give just one more order, then the storm- 
tossed, wind-scourged Durland would drop her 
cloth. Once danger was all passed, everything and 
everybody safe, he would sleep. Whether awak¬ 
ened in this world or the next was the same to him. 


108 


THE WHIRLWIND 


The barquentine was turned over to the pilot as 
the tug paid out the tow line. 

'‘Sturgis, let the men go below as soon as pos¬ 
sible.” The Captain glanced aloft at the over¬ 
worked sheets now flapping idly. Laboriously, as 
an aged, blind man, he reached his chair. His eyes 
full of hot sand, were covered by both palms. He 
ate the soup but rejected the coffee that Jim brought. 

“Jim, we are in still water,” he mumbled. 

“Captain, I should think you would fall—all of 
four days without sleep—” 

“Yes—goin’ to stay in bed until I have it out; 
don’t call me for any one.— Where is the Prin¬ 
cess?— Before I go to sleep, bring her.— Angels 
guard her, Jim; I feel them hovering ’round when 
she is near—wonderful!—nothing more wonderful, 
Jim—” his voice trailed off into silence. 

The Captain’s head was again in his palms; 
glassy eyeballs turned backward as in sleep, but 
leaden burning lids would not close. His nerves 
raced like an engine without load. 

“I will bring the Princess—go to bed at once.” 
Jim’s suggestion sounded more like an order. 

Tilden fell heavily on his bed. Jim saw the white 
only of the half closed eyes, and was frightened 
when he laid the Princess down beside him. The 
Captain reached out and took one of her tiny hands 
in his own and held it to his eyes, then drew it to 


THE WHIR'LWIND 


109 


his lips; released it, and his big hands passed lightly, 
tenderly over the tiny face. Soon the burned lids 
ceased twitching. The great nerve waves that were 
sweeping through him were being stilled. Soon he 
slept. 

Jim held the screening portieres, peered at the 
man and child, and a smile parted his lips. The 
babe too was sleeping quietly. He went on deck. 
Jim found Sturgis in charge and with nothing re¬ 
quired of him, he sought his bunk for the sleep that 
was overpowering him. 

The Spanish Pilot made him understand he must 
have floodtide to cross the bar into the river—a 
wait of three hours. All hands could sleep. 

Sturgis had no intention of letting the men go 
until the barquentine was ship-shape. This done, 
he sent them to their quarters, but unbidden, he 
himself, remained. When they finally came along¬ 
side the dock of a one-story cooperage plant on a 
slimy, oozy tide creek some two miles from the 
City of Bilboa, he insisted that they be moored five 
feet therefrom, instead of tied to the dock, and 
that no gangplank would be laid until so ordered by 
the Captain. 

When Jim awoke and came up, the inert barquen¬ 
tine Durland was deserted. The single deck watch 
was leaning against the main mast, asleep. Jim 
shook him and sent him below. 


110 


THE WHIRLWIND 


As he appeared, five men had hurried along the 
dock towards where he leaned, still stupid with 
sleep, on the taffrail. Tall waving marsh grass en¬ 
veloped them. 

“She has gone aground while I slept,” was Jim’s 
first thought, but he was soon to know differently. 

In very good English one of the five explained, 
bowing low, that he was of the firm of Hidalgo and 
Company, to whom the ship was consigned. One 
was the owner of the plant and two others were 
“Adwana”—Customs House officials. The fifth 
man, a clerk, had the Captain’s mail. All had suf¬ 
ficient business reasons for wanting to see the Cap¬ 
tain at once. 

“The Captain is asleep,” Jim informed them. 

“But would the Mate be so kind, so obliging as 
to tell the Captain that the officials of the Kingdom 
of Spain await, and want to see the ship’s papers 
so that entry will be facilitated and the lawful im¬ 
port duty calculated and paid?” 

Jim shook his head. 

“We have had bad weather. The Captain for 
four days has not slept. I am Sorry, but—” 

“But would the Mate please?— Yes, oh, Car- 
amba! we know of the weather—many buildings 
were blown down—German boats had to come in¬ 
side Galea Point and were told to go away, but 
they did not—” 


THE WHIRLWIND 


111 


The cherub faced agent with his bronzed pink 
cheeks, full lipped and sagging jowl, was evidence 
that fat fowl, good wine and sweetmeats were still 
obtainable in Spain. With a substantial cane he 
pointed to a tall thin man who pulled at a gray 
goatee.— 

“That is the owner of the timber. He has been 
looking for this cargo for nearly a year and has a 
big force ready to begin unloading,” designating 
with the cane again a group lolling about a timber 
shed. “The cargo is all settled for—I have the 
papers.” Taking a large envelope from his pocket, 
he tapped it delicately as a protest against Jim’s 
complacency or disrespect for the King’s tax collec¬ 
tors. 

Jim was unmoved by the comedy. 

“Would the Senor Mate be so kind,” continued 
he of Hidalgo and Company, in a warning ripple, 
“to tell the Captain that he had extremely impor¬ 
tant communications from the vessel’s owner?” The 
clerk standing apart holding a huge envelope and 
package, drew the cane his way. 

“The vessel had been engaged to go to Valparaiso, 
Chile, and it is important—yes, very, very, very— 
that the Captain should know it at once.— That 
one end of the warehouse contains her new cargo.” 
As a weather vane, the cane hanging ornamentally 
on his arm came to “posing” as the voice went on: 


112 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“At much expense it has been secretly lightered 
out that far away from the striking longshore¬ 
men.”— 

“Oh, yes—the Senor Mate should know—wine 
from the California—much improved by the long 
sea trip in upland Spanish oak casques that bore the 
export stamps of Imperial Spain. That the Spanish 
origin of the casques was further attested by certain 
Latin hieroglyphics into the wood deeply burned.” 
His voice now rippled on pleadingly. 

Jim blinked, but otherwise seemed unmoved. 

“We have oil in tins, bottles, kegs and barrels sent 
to us long ago by the American Cotton Oil Com¬ 
pany, wonderfully converted, refined and blended 
with the corn oil of Del Norte, America, all bear¬ 
ing stencil, stamp and label: ‘Castilian Pure Olive 
Oil.’— 

“Also, most wonderful and marvelous Senor 
Mate, very many cases, even enough to fill a ship of 
good, yes, very good attested Castile Soap, manu¬ 
factured in New York. Its Castilian origin and 
more—the King has collected liberal import and ex¬ 
port duty on the soap—was amply proved by apply¬ 
ing to each case a red hot steel stencil or branding 
iron. Would not the kind, good Mate please tell 
the Captain?” 

Jim leaned heavily backward, his right hand 
resting on the taffrail; crossed his legs, and expelled 


THE WHIRLWIND 


113 


a deep breath. He looked at the booms holding the 
Durlcmd technically in the stream; then slowly, de¬ 
terminedly shook his head. 

The tall goateed owner's disgust banished polite 
hypocrisy. Prudently, the Customs House officers 
and clerk restrained their impatience. The United 
States Navy uniform which Jim wore, might mean 
much. New things were coming from all ports of 
the world. 

“The Senor Mate can do nothing ?” Hidalgo’s 
man elevated his brows and simulated sweetness, 
though it was evident he would rather wring the 
Mate’s neck. 

“We are a week ahead of time—” then Jim added 
in defense of the Captain: “For four days no one 
has slept.” 

To the eaves of the rickety shed warehouse, 
Hidalgo’s Romeo and party retired. Jim thought 
their gestures indicated soft, discreet cursing. The 
officers of the port finally disappeared. The rubi¬ 
cund face and the one with a chin like a Billy Goat 
conferred and decided upon diplomacy, evidently 
planning. 

Jim vaguely wondered. The waving marsh 
grass was painfully suggestive and depressing. 

Soon a small boat came from under the dock, 
some distance beyond the Durland's head, and 
worked back to them. Still stupid from loss of 


114 


THE WHIRLWIND 


sleep, Jim remained on the starboard taffrail. 
Hidalgo and Company’s man of affairs—the 
second scene of Act One—began by resuming 
his place on the dock, as his boat bearing a 
substantial good-will offering calculated to over¬ 
come scruple and simulate energy, rested along¬ 
side. 

“Senor Mate,” began the diplomatic emissary, 
drawing back his elbows and inserting the cane 
athwart the small of his back, bulging his chest 
forward, “we know that you have had a very hard 
time. The hurricane was terrible—besides—the 
enemy. Wonderful—wonderful that you are here 
so much ahead of time.” In melting voice which 
almost threatened tears, he went on determinedly: 
“We are sending you a few little things in apprecia¬ 
tion. The case of wine is for the Captain; the 
fruit and fresh milk for the cabin table, while the 
cigars and cigarettes are for you—the brave Mate’s 
own use—please accept them. Take the wine, fruit 
and milk to the great Captain, with the compliments 
of Hidalgo and Company, and tell him I shall await 
his pleasure.” 

The boatman timing his movements with the 
speech, skillfully lifted a wicker basket aloft within 
Jim’s reach. He also handed Jim a quantity of 
assorted fruit, an earthen jug of milk, a box of 
cigars and a paper bundle of cigarettes which he 


THE WHIRLWIND 


115 


placed beside the companionway, then resumed his 
place on the taffrail. 

“The Captain will thank you when he awakes.” 
The emissary with arms akimbo behind with his 
cane, was getting discouraged. 

“The Senor Mate cannot tell him now?” he asked 
wistfully, though both his plump hands itched to 
choke Jim. “Has the brave Mate of the great ship 
that will take our wine, olives and soap to America 
del Sur, through Canal de Panama, any other pleas¬ 
ure?—If so, I am here to do it.” 

Jim lacked energy to explain he was not the 
Mate. 

“When the Mate comes ashore I will see—I will 
personally see at the expense of Hidalgo and Com¬ 
pany, that nothing is wanting. With such hair and 
such delicate ears, soft sea complexion—and I would 
say—ah—such ruddy lips—the Mate would be very 
popular. Ah, I see he is also modest—he blushes!” 

It was true Jim had blushed. He turned gladly 
when he heard Sturgis approaching to relieve him. 

When Sturgis came aft over the deckload, his 
blue eye as soon as it beheld the wine, fruit and 
milk, danced and cavorted. 

Before Jim departed, he assured Hidalgo’s man 
that the moment the Captain awoke, he would 
tell him of their requests, but he hoped that 
the man would continue begging Sturgis and 


116 


THE WHIRLWIND 


get cursed or thrown into the dirty tide creek. 

“Senor Mate—” the cane came down and he ad¬ 
vanced slightly—“all we want is to begin unloading. 
As I have already pointed out, we have many men 
waiting who will work night and day to get the 
timber out, and then fill the ship quickly.” 

Jim stopped in a doubtful attitude; only his head 
was visible. 

“I will see,” was all he said. 

He opened the cabin door carefully and softly 
worked around to where he could see between the 
curtains. Captain Tilden was resting on his side, 
his face towards Jim, but inclined downward until 
nothing but a mass of tangled gray hair was visible. 
The little Princess lay close to him, wide awake, 
looking about—perhaps wondering how any man 
could have such lung and heart capacity, and such 
long arms. 

To Jim he appeared the stump-cut log, bark and 
all, of an aged oak tree that had for centuries re¬ 
sisted everything but man. Noiselessly he went out 
galleywards, diluted and warmed some canned milk, 
put it into a tapering salad dressing bottle equipped 
with a rag teat of his own fabrication. 

With but slight variation, the Princess took food 
every three hours. 

Returning to the cabin, behind the curtains he 
tiptoed. While waiting for the tiny hands to get a 


THE WHIRLWIND 


117 


firm hold on the bottle, he was startled when the 
Captain, in a dazed undertone, without moving or 
opening his eyes, asked: 

“Jim, is that you?” 

“Just giving the child milk, Captain.” 

“You are not going to—take—her away?” 

“No, Captain, she will remain quiet if she doesn’t 
get hungry.” 

“Leave her, Jim; my eyes are covered with burn¬ 
ing sand. She softens the pain.— We are along¬ 
side?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Jim, have you slept enough?” 

“Oh, yes—I got some sleep ever}' day.” 

“The Dons want the cargo?” 

“Yes, they—” 

“Tier it alongside—but not a stick leaves the 
dock till the manifest checks. You’re Mate now, 
Jim; tally every stick as it goes over side.— Every 
muscle cries out, Jim; if sinking, I could not move.” 
Here the Captain's voice lessened as if he were 
being swiftly carried off. 

“Yes,” thought Jim as he went out, “the man 
whose physical endurance seemed to have no limit, 
has succumbed, and his soul has been borne away— 
led by a little child—who shall say where?—for it 
is known that sleep’s least function is to rest the 
body.” 


CHAPTER X 


It developed that Jim had a faculty for getting 
things done so quickly and quietly his authority was 
scarcely felt. Sturgis ran the donkey engine 
while they were unloading. Spanish John cooked, 
leaving Jim to tally and take care of the Captain. 

Captain Tilden could be aroused now and then 
sufficiently to take a drink of milk, after which he 
would draw the Princess to him and again sink 
into a coma. His great chest would fill so slowly 
that Jim had to look closely to be sure of respira¬ 
tion. Though he shook him and called him, he got 
no response for long intervals. When the Captain 
finally came out of his torpor the ship was clear 
of cargo, the hold swept clean and the decks washed 
down. 

The timber was ranged in tiers well back from 
the ship and the casques, barrels and cases were 
moved immediately alongside, ready for loading as 
soon as the Captain gave the word. 

Hidalgo and Company’s rubicund man of affairs 
was in a constant state of nervous haste. Their wine 
and oil had lain there more than a year and no 

118 


THE WHIRLWIND 


119 


ships were available. This was their first and per¬ 
haps their last chance for a long time. 

The approaching crisis in the great war augured 
badly for Spain’s export business and there was 
also ominous trouble and riots among their laboring 
classes. 

It took time for Jim to understand the Span¬ 
iards’ extravagant compliments while the unloading 
was being rushed. 

While the Captain examined his mail, the advice 
from the manager-owner, and the order was to 
load for Valparaiso, Chile, the gentleman fan¬ 
dangoed on three legs—his two natural ones and 
the one he could hang on his arm. The Spaniard 
also prepared feasts and entertainment for the crew 
—anything to keep them from Bilboa, as some 
would be sure to desert, and what was worse, get 
into trouble with the striking longshoremen. 

A cook was smuggled out of the city with the 
fresh water. Captain Tilden insisted, and Jim’s 
name went down as First Mate on the new articles, 
and according to custom, he took his place at the 
table in the cabin. 

It was Jim’s first breakfast there opposite the 
Captain while the Princess was within reach in her 
combination chair and hammock. 

“How much coal have we now?” 

“Not very much, Captain. We had to force 


120 


THE WHIRLWIND 


the boiler unloading and loading, you know.’’ 

“Do you know I have not had time to overhaul 
Bates’ quarters yet? If he had not used that space, 
we would not need coal.” 

“Can’t we get coal in Valparaiso?” 

“No coal there—in fact, none on the whole west 
coast. I'll insist on the Dons filling us up before 
we leave. They’ll do anything to get us cleared. 
My prophecy about Bates turning up has failed?” 

“I—I—well, I don’t want to see him—but there 
is time yet.” 

“Don’t let him worry you, Jim; he’s not worth 
it.” 

“Captain, I learned—that is, Spanish John in¬ 
sists that Bates told him that this barquentine is 
hoodoo.” 

“Boy, is he cracked?—criminally loony?—or was 
he hired to send her down? Ships are sometimes 
sunk to get the insurance, you know. No, Mr. 
Simmons owns three-quarters, and I know 1 —I feel 
he’s straight.” 

“Who owns the other quarter?” Jim asked medi¬ 
tatively. 

“Some member of his family, I inferred. No, 
Jim; I have thought all around and over and all 
through that damned crazy fool’s attempt. I have 
decided that it was not the ship, but someone in the 
ship he was after.” 


THE WHIRLWIND 


121 


Jim colored—then as suddenly paled. They were 
interrupted by the Spanish Agent. 

This enterprising man had kept a tug and 
lighter busy. He brought extra gear to replace 
those lost ; general supplies, water, pigs, fowl and a 
goat—a real wet nurse for the Princess Ann, as no 
canned milk was available in that part of Spain. 
But pain came to his face, his plump grease-fed 
hands were wrung, when Captain Tilden referred 
to coal the third time. 

“My dear, brave Captain, who brought the great 
ship through the hurricane with a deckload of tim¬ 
ber, and must go back the same path—coal in Spain 
is now impossible—Caramba—impossible! I would 
walk on the water to the city a dozen times to get 
it for you—you who must take the great ship, 
carrying our wine and oil, through the Bay of Bis¬ 
cay in the stormy December winter season and es¬ 
cape the German submarine—you, Senor Captain of 
my heart, I cannot get you a single pound of coal. 
France gets coal. Italy gets coal. England gets 
coal—but every fire in Spain is either wood or char¬ 
coal—terrible—terrible!” 

Captain Tilden was unable to hear the extrava¬ 
gant speech without a smile, even though he wanted 
to curse him. 

‘‘Well, I guess that oil you put aboard will burn.” 

“Great—fine! I knew the great Captain, with 



122 


THE WHIRLWIND 


strong body as big as the standing boiler for un¬ 
loading his ship, would find a way. The oil is in¬ 
sured, and if the perils of the sea require him to 
throw it overboard or burn it—it is the same. They 
will pay—not so soon, but some time.” 

By mid-day, the Durland was ready for sea. 
The tug had taken Captain Tilden to the city to 
clear the port. Sturgis had turned in to get a few 
winks. To cross the Bay of Biscay any time in 
winter is an adventure, but now the submarine was 
an added danger. It meant but little sleep for all 
hands on board. 

Jim had some of the crew making the final clean¬ 
up, and they were washing down the deck when he 
saw Bates coming. His heart jumped. He was 
at once both relieved and apprehensive. That Bates 
was able to swagger, able bodied, towards the ship, 
was living proof that the weapon he had driven, 
had taken no toll. 

He moved, leisurely aggressive, forward into the 
waist as Bates headed that way. 

“Hello, cook; I see you landed and are partly 
unloaded.” 

Jim still wore the Navy blouse and trousers, but 
was without head covering. He was on the deck 
opposite and somewhat above the quondam Mate. 

Jim nodded, vizualizing anew the monster in the 
man. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


123 


When Bates raised his head to grip the gasket 
to swing on the rail, Jim’s palm went up. 

‘‘No one allowed aboard, Bates.” 

“I guess the Mate is allowed aboard.” 

“No one but the Captain can let you aboard—he 
is not here,” the while meeting Bates’ shifting eye. 

“Look here, cook, this is my ship. I’m the Mate, 
and I’m coming aboard.” 

“You cannot come aboard now.” Jim moved 
slightly toward the rail. 

“Well, if this don’t beat me for gall! The cook 
tells the Mate of the ship he can’t come aboard—” 

“Bates, do you want more trouble—with me?” 

Bates winced before he let loose a volume of 
wind. 

“Trouble!” he shouted, slightly crouching, and 
shaking his fist across—“You damned little shrimp, 
I’m going to make you trouble. You’re goin’ to 
find out what it means to stick the Mate of a vessel 
on the high seas. You’re goin’ to find out what the 
inside of a Spanish prison is like—do you hear?” 
he bawled. 

Jim paled. The men washing the deck stopped 
work. 

“Bates, all I will tell you now is that you can’t 
come aboard, and more than that, you must leave 
the ship’s side.” 

“You feel awful strong, don’t you, cook?” Bates 


124 


THE WHIRLWIND 


was quick to see the men were against him. He 
backed up livid with fear and anger. “I dare you 
to come off the ship!” as a coward dog he barked. 

Even as Jim glanced over the ship, he sprang to 
the rail, thence to the dock, and promptly, easily, 
walked over to Bates. 

It may have been the baggy, flapping trousers that 
made his feet seem so small. The Navy blouse 
somehow suggested litheness and confidence. 
Bates recalled the furious whirlwind attack and 
suddenly decided to back water. 

“See here, cook, I don’t want any more trouble 
with you—” 

“You threatened as a bully, and here I am. Now 
is your time, or hold your dirty tongue!” 

“I say I don’t want trouble,” Bates whined, be¬ 
coming whitish gray. “I’m not such a bad fellow 
as you think. All I want now is to get to my 
room to get some tobacco I left there—then I’ll 
wait for the Captain. I’ve had a hard time getting 
here—after being left as I was at the Azores.” 

Jim again regretted that the hole he wanted to 
go back to, had not been overhauled and the con¬ 
tents thrown overboard. 

“Bates, I see you have lied so often about it that 
you now believe you were left at the Azores and 
did not desert. Bates, you are just fooling your¬ 
self. Wait and tell Captain Tilden—” 


THE WHIRLWIND 


125 


“Yes, I suppose you are still taking care of his 
bastard kid he sneaked aboard at Mobile. You’re 
an easy mark—you’re only his fool. You listen to 
me and I’ll tell you something that’ll open your 
eyes.” 

“Bates, I would not believe you if you swore to 
it, and I would not trust you with a shoestring. 
You know I am not afraid, yet I know you—hands 
and all.” His vulgar reference to the child did cut, 
though. He did not look at Bates as he added: 
“You know we are guarded. I will call the officer 
if you attempt to come nearer the ship.” 

“Wait a minute, cook. You don’t understand. 
I’m going to stay with the ship and we’ve got to 
get along. There’s worse than me,” he began, 
plausibly penitent and pleading cleverly, convinc¬ 
ingly. “Just as soon as we understand—you didn’t 
hurt me much—I’m goin’ to forget that. I got hot 
and you got hot. The way the old man smuggled 
the brat aboard, I jest couldn’t stand it. I hate 
brats and then you let him make a monkey out of 
you, or he’d have shored it at Key West.” 

Jim had stopped with one foot on the rail. He 
looked across the ship at the broad, salt marsh that 
moved in weary waves. Beyond, it merged into a 
lighter green of stunted trees and finally into full 
timber, as low lands abruptly mounted heavenward. 
He felt himself softening.—How far was Bates 


126 


THE WHIRLWIND 


responsible for his acts—could he raise himself out 
of the mire he was living in? 

Bates’ second reference to the infant saddened 
and weakened Jim. It seemed that the Captain 
did know about the child. Strangely he finally found 
strength by considering what loyalty to the Captain 
of the ship demanded. Bates, misled by the silence, 
indiscreetly moved towards him. Immediately Jim’s 
impulse to help him fled and reason reasserted it¬ 
self. Coldly he looked him through and through. 

“Bates, one who lies to me will lie about me. 
Because you cannot help being dirty doesn’t help 
it. You will never come in a vessel with me again!” 

Jim then sprang lightly back to the rail and went 
to his room. He took the infant in his arms fondling 
it and kissing it. He put it on his bed instead of 
back in its swing crib, and lay down beside it, 
drawing its tiny face close to his closed eyes. 
Necessity had required him to come in contact with 
filth; the child would purge and raise his soul. Led 
by a little child he went sweetly, delightfully to sleep. 
Voices brought him slowly back. After passing 
the semi-conscious stage of awakening from sound 
sleep he heard distinctly Captain Tilden evidently 
at his desk, talking to Bates. The Captain was 
speaking in a full tone and Jim could catch even the 
inflections of his voice as there was only a wood 
partition intervening. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


127 


“No, Bates, it’s no use talking; I wouldn’t sail 
with you again without your hands and feet being 
in irons—do you get me ?” 

Jim could hear Bates pleading truculently, but so 
plausibly and convincingly that he again began to 
feel like finding excuses for him. At the same time 
he knew it was the Captain’s duty to remain firm; 
that he would, he sincerely hoped. 

Tilden did not .interrupt but waited until the fel¬ 
low had finished, when he began as the north wind: 

“Bates, you insult my intelligence, insult my 
loyal crew by asking to come back. I resent an in¬ 
sult at any time; I resent it to my crew. I signed 
you only for the voyage across as a make-shift. 
You then had me about convinced—we hadn’t 
dropped the lights of Mobile until I knew you were 
afraid of the water—that it had you whipped. A 
rough sea made you shiver like a chilly dog. Yon 
are so yellow that you are foolish. Your long suit 
is rowing with the Captain and cooks. I knew all 
that before I left Mobile.\ What has kept you in 
the ship, I don’t know. You are out and will stay 
out as long as I stay in!” 

“But, Captain—” broke in Bates. 

“Bates, I listened to all you had to say for your¬ 
self. Keep still until I am through. You were 
strong enough to drive away five captains. I took 
this ship to make good. I have made good. I 


128 


THE WHIRLWIND 


shall continue to make good though I must tear you 
limb from limb and heave the pieces of your carcass 
overboard. I know about all that’s happened on 
this ship since I came aboard. To leave the ship 
at the Islands fitted in with your cursed plans.— 

“Bates, some one will kill you—you ought to be 
killed! You are the kind to cause a man to do 
murder—to cause me to take your life to save 
others. That’s how you stand with me, Bates!” 

The Captain’s fierceness was so well concealed 
that it was a veritable man trip. If given sufficient 
provocation, the Captain’s long arms might prove 
great saw-toothed jaws of steel that could close, 
crushing one’s bones and doing one to death. 
Listening, Jim knew it. Bates also knew it and 
trembled. 

“I—I guess you’ve got me wrong—you’ve got 
me wrong. Somebody’s been carrying lies. I—I 
don’t think you understand—the trouble with the 
cook—” 

Jim’s thought of the possible good in Bates and 
his handicap, vanished again. He strained for what 
he would say now if the Captain permitted more 
talk. 

“All right, what’s your version of a fight with the 
cook?—Any school boy would have known better. 
We were running the crucial end of the most danger¬ 
ous and hazardous voyage ever undertaken with a 


THE WHIRLWIND 


129 


deck laden wooden sailing ship—when the last jot 
of man power on board was required to reach this 
port, ship, cargo and souls all safe.” 

Jim trembled. He left the child’s side; another 
knife he used in the galley, he took from the 
drawer beside him—it was there to protect the babe. 
Standing by the door where he could better hear if 
Bates lied, he struggled with himself futilely. He 
knew this time he would plunge the knife blade 
deep. Defamation is a terrible thing—an emana¬ 
tion of Satan. He was afraid that the loud thump¬ 
ing of his heart might warn Bates. Surging 
blood beat on his ear drums, temples, and eye 
sockets as an exploding fire within. His grip on the 
knife tightened. 

On barbs of his own making, Bates was impaled 
and slowly writhed. Rampant malice, revenge and 
hatred were held in leash by fear only. If aroused, 
volcano-like, the bear-like body of Captain Tilden 
might envelop and destroy—obliterate him then and 
there. Bates’ upper lip stretched back and upward 
with the chagrin of one caught red handed. He 
cunningly struggled for a reply that would not ir¬ 
ritate. 

“I—I—well, I guess I was wrong not to tell you 
at the time, but then we were not getting along. 
When I found out something about the cook—the 
way he took care of the brat was just like as if he 


130 


THE WHIRLWIND 


was its father or mother. He has funny ways. I 
knew it was his own—that he smuggled it aboard in 
the basket with the groceries—it made me mad, 
but I never really intended to put it over the side 
—I—” 

“Bates, your story doesn’t hold water,” inter¬ 
rupted the Captain. 

Jim loosened his grip on the knife. The en¬ 
gulfing passion had eased with Bates’ failure to be 
explicit. He was about to put the weapon away 
when Bates went on: 

“I—maybe so, but he was so offish, and spent 
more of his time with the crew and the young ’un 
—I—” 

“Bates, you’re lying like a dog. Quarreling with 
the cook, and lying, with you is a disease. If you 
were just half a man—half a Mate—you would ad¬ 
mit the brutality of putting the child ashore, besides 
sacrificing precious time and destroying the crew’s 
morale. As it was, their fingernails went without 
a whimper. I don’t know whose child it is, or who 
put it aboard, and I think Jim knows no more about 
it than I do. I don’t care if the Devil’s its sire, or 
even if it’s yours, Bates—Jim took care of it and 
thereby held the best crew I ever had. The child at 
least once, saved the ship—for that alone, it will have 
every good thing I can give.” Here the Captain 
looked at the large, carefully wrapped box beside 


THE WHIRLWIND 


131 


his chair. Turning again to his desk, he finished 
writing, folded the paper, went to the door and 
beckoned to a sailor. 

“Take this letter to the officer,” he said, pointing 
towards the cooperage plant. 

“When will you be discharged, Captain?” Bates 
casually asked. 

“I am discharged. My outbound cargo is in the 
hold,” Captain Tilden replied, turning to him. 

“She isn’t quite deep enough for her canvas, is 
she?—Where are you bound?” 

“Bates, I don’t know where I’m bound—perhaps 
to the bottom of the Biscay—but I do know for 
where I’m cleared. Bates, your hands drip—why 
would I tell you anything?” 

Bates flinched as a thieving dog. 

“Captain, I’m stuck. I’ve got to get out of here 
on this ship.” Bates stopped to listen to the sound 
of a tug blowing for a tow line; the sound seemed 
to disturb him. “I suppose I’ve got to tell you 
something else—” 

“Bates,” quickly interrupted Captain Tilden, 
“don’t tell me anything—I will not hear—” 

“But I have the papers to prove—” Bates stopped 
and fumbled in his inside coat pocket. 

“Don’t try anything more; I will neither look nor 
listen.” 

“I think you ought to look at these—” 


He was 


132 


THE WHIRLWIND 


halted by Jim, red eyed and nervous, coming from 
his room. Bates’ face clouded to a scowl. 

“Captain Tilden,” began Jim, “the tug that will 
take us to sea has called for the line, but before we 
leave the dock, can’t you decide? It’s either Bates, 
or—” 

Tilden stopped him by raising his hand. 

“Just a moment, Jim.” Then he turned to Bates. 

“Bates, you’re one-half ass and one-half fox. 
Papers are man made—any you might have would 
be as cunningly crooked as you can be.” His voice 
was without heat. 

Bates looked baffled, but he made one more re¬ 
quest : 

“I don’t suppose you will object to my going to 
my old quarters to get some things I left?” 

“I do object, unless you are blindfolded and 
ironed at both ends. Even at that, I must be look¬ 
ing at you. I trusted you once—I got the steel. 
Once is enough!” 

“It might pay you—” Here the tug that was to 
tow them out shrieked impatiently. Tilden after¬ 
wards wondered how Bates had intended to finish 
his remark. 

Jim hurried out on deck. The Police Officer 
passed him, coming in response to the Captain’s 
note. He arrested Bates and hurried him off the 
ship. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


133 


Captain Tilden then went on deck. The Dur- 
land's mooring lines were all in. The plump man 
from Hidalgo and Company rushed up and shook 
hands with the Captain for the fifth and final time, 
winked and slightly elevated one shoulder towards 
Bates and the policeman. 

“Keep him incomunicado for two or three days— 
after that, let him go—we’ll either be through the 
zone or at the bottom,” Tilden instructed, and the 
ship edged away. 

“Oh, Amigo Captain, his Majesty’s courts are 
very just—very sure and slow to act—slow and 
just, dear Captain. If there is no evidence, he will 
some time be discharged.” At this a cheering smile 
lit on his pink face and stayed. 

Under cover of darkness that night, the Durland 
left a hiding-place in the river near the mouth, 
crossed the bar when the tide came to flood, and 
with great caution passed out through Bilboa Bay, 
as close to Point Lacero as water would permit; 
then in a piping wind, dashed into the Bay of Biscay 
straight west, the shortest way through the infested 
zone. 

Before daylight the next morning, Captain Til¬ 
den had coaxed, driven and flogged the wooden 
barquentine a hundred and fifty miles away from 
the Coast of Spain. Only fifty or a hundred miles 
more and he would be fairly safe from all but the 


134 


THE WHIRLWIND 


usual December dangers of the Bay of Biscay. 

All in their favor were the heavy clouds hang¬ 
ing low, and there were other signs of bad weather. 

Tilden had been up all night. Calling Sturgis, 
he went below. Scrutiny of the instruments brought 
a rather anxious look, but he sat down to break¬ 
fast fairly well satisfied with the bark’s night per¬ 
formance. Soon he asked Jim, who was sitting 
opposite him at the table, as usual: 

“Is the Princess asleep?” 

“Yes, she breakfasted early and went to bed.” 

“Jim, I forgot to tell you that I asked Hidalgo’s 
fat man to get some things for her—I left it to him; 
he’s got children of his own. The box is in there.” 
He jerked his thumb towards his desk. When Jim 
smiled ever so little, he scanned him closely. 

Though Jim was hollow-eyed and fatigued from 
duty all night, his interest in the infant was in¬ 
stantly aroused. The Captain, though, saw him 
hesitate, a slight smile about his mouth. 

“I might have told you—you know the men went 
up to the city after getting their bonus. Once a 
little tipsy all they thought of was buying something 
for Princess Ann. Something made them lose all 
sense of proportion and they brought aboard enough 
clothing and toys to fill our room—much of it won’t 
fit her for five years.” 

The Captain laughed. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


135 


“Wonderfully simple too; the little youngster 
keeps them from thinking about themselves. I had 
to punish them last night, but they seemed to un¬ 
derstand. As soon as we are clear of the zone, I 
will make it easier. Jim, I wish this day were over. 
Do you know, of all that Bates mouthed, only one 
thing stuck; when he said it would ‘pay’ me to let 
him go to his old quarters. I think he meant that.” 

“He came while you were away,” explained Jim. 
“First he tried to bully me into letting him go be¬ 
low to his room; then he coaxed and do you know, 
at one time I was almost convinced, and about to 
give in. But I feel he is exceedingly dangerous and 
possessed of evil.” 

“He—the Devil take him !—for reasons we will 
some time learn, wanted us to sink when he fixed 
that rudder!” exclaimed the Captain. 

“But he can’t want that now, if he wanted to 
sail with us.” 

“That’s just it; I feel that way too and that is 
just what bothers me.” 

“You have done what you thought best.” 

“Jim, I know that what was done yesterday we 
cannot undo to-day; or what we failed or refused 
to do, we cannot do to-day. Whatever he wanted 
in his quarters goes overboard with everything else 
in the evil smelling hole. Just now worry will 
not help us.”—And with a quick change of tone, 



136 


THE WHIRLWIND 


he exclaimed: “Let’s see what the fat man got 
for the real Master of the ship!” 

Hidalgo’s handyman knew just what an infant 
en voyage needed. Each item was appropriate 
and of the finest quality. Jim’s eyes moistened 
w T hen he saw the tiny garments. Gently, daintily, 
as though hallowed, he caught them up. 

“I thought it might be a long time before we 
had another chance, so I had him get enough.” 
Here the Captain stopped and listened. “The gale 
is stiffening—it’s getting pretty lumpy.” 

Jim stood apart, viewing the table critically. 
They heard the child cough delicately. 

“Captain, you’ve got so many clothes for her, 
she’ll outgrow most of them.” 

“It’s a long way to Valparaiso—one can never 
tell what will happen to a sailing vessel,” Tilden 
responded somewhat gloomily. 

“That’s so; you ought to know—” 

Jim stopped. He saw the Captain’s face sud¬ 
denly cloud. He heard Sturgis run across the 
deck above them, then rush down the companion- 
way into the cabin. He was so excited that though 
his lips moved, they did not utter sound. Fin¬ 
ally he shouted: “The ship’s on fire—forward— 
in the coal bin!” 



CHAPTER XI 


Instantly Captain Tilden opened the cabin 
door leading to the main deck and rushed through 
it—Sturgis after him. 

“Are you sure of the boats?” was his first ques¬ 
tion. 

“Aye, aye, sir, ever since we left the harbor,” 
replied Sturgis. 

From where the Captain stood smoke was visible 
through seams of the deck. As though pressure 
forced, thin, blue-black filmy streams came up be¬ 
tween the planks and about the hatchway. Scarcely 
did they rise and take form when the north wind 
dissipated and dissolved them in thin air. The 
Captain strode towards the spot where the smoke 
was issuing. His short, stout legs carried his body 
irresistibly. To the men now gathering about the 
forecastle companionway, he seemed capable even 
of stopping the strong winds, heavy seas and spray 
from the north which struck them full abeam. 
They showed no excitement, confident in his power 
to control. 

“All hands and dunnage above,” he ordered. 

Driven from their quarters, they pinched their 

137 


138 


THE WHIRLWIND 


nostrils, stuffed cloths in their mouths and went be¬ 
low. When they returned coughing, choking, the 
Captain had not moved, although the ship had 
rolled heavily. In the trough of the sea, none too 
low with cargo and loaded with sail, the gale on 
her quarter often carried her well on her beam. 

The Captain stood facing the port side where 
the coal was stored—waiting: waiting—for what? 
Bates had wanted to go to his den next to the coal 
bin—for what? Had he wanted to remove some¬ 
thing, or make the fire more certain ?—These 
thoughts were flying through the Captain’s brain. 

The smoke grew to a great volume. The coal 
bin with only a wooden hull between it and the sea, 
was a seething furnace. The crew was mute be¬ 
side the starboard rail near him with some of their 
dunnage about them, awaiting some order—any 
order. If the sea claimed them, it must be while 
in action. 

Captain Tilden turned. His head was attached 
to his neck as an eagle’s, with ball and socket. 
Now, for the first time since coming on deck, it 
moved. On the poop was Jim with the swaddled 
child. Towards the babe, or Jim, or both, he 
turned. Sturgis with the helmsman too, strained 
ear and eye. The Captain’s eyes remained fixed for 
a moment, then he brought them back to the fire as 
though he had been awaiting something. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


139 


The deck’s seams near the rail began to open. 

Captain Tilden never moved except to answer to 
the roll of the vessel. When the beam’s end went 
down, he wished it would stay there. Into the 
crucible that tests men, he was again being dashed. 

As angry seas thudded on the ship, solid water 
was dashed over him to remind or emphasize that 
in his hand the lives of more than a dozen had 
been placed. The water that struck him now ran 
across to the heated deck, turned into a volume of 
steam and added to the great spreading volume of 
smoke that would reveal their position. 

Some of the crew moved slightly to protect them¬ 
selves from the water, the while scarcely taking their 
eyes from their motionless Captain. Some of them 
moved a trifle nearer the boat swinging in davits 
on the weather side. They knew it could not be 
lowered there. As soon as it touched, it would 
fill. The vessel must be brought about to make a 
lee, or the life boat was but a trap. 

“Why did not the Captain bring her about be¬ 
fore it was too late?—But no one spoke their 
thoughts. 

The Captain steadily looked at the deck. The 
increasing smoke and heat indicated that flame 
would soon break through. He was stonily indif¬ 
ferent to the universal question in the air, and no 
one was bold enough to venture a suggestion other 


140 


THE WHIRLWIND 


than to move nearer the provisioned boat; some 
strange power made it impossible. 

Jim and Sturgis on the poop far from him, won¬ 
dered if he heard the Princess cry. Though abund¬ 
antly wrapped, she was not used to the cutting, 
wintry wind. 

The Captain’s eyes again turned towards the spot 
where Jim stood holding the child. He saw the 
lad take the babe closer into his arms and peer 
fondly into its face as he tried to protect her from 
the cold wind with his body. His eyes moved 
from them without making a sound, though he saw 
Sturgis by, with the wheelman ready for instant 
action should an order come. His gaze fastened 
again on a spot about five feet from the port bul¬ 
warks. Directly over the coal bin his eyes became 
riveted. Spray carried over to it instantly became 
white steam. 

The goat—the Princess’ wet nurse—bleated in 
fright. Chickens and pigs, by their noise, evidenced 
their terror. What would save them if the ship’s 
side were burning away as was the deck? The 
crew stared at the maddeningly motionless Captain. 

“There it comes!” they exclaimed, huddling over 
to the starboad rail. The fire had broken through 
the deck. White, fierce flames licked through the 
opening. Larger and larger it grew. The oaken 


THE WHIRLWIND 


141 


planks charred and twisted their protest. The 
flame reached through so far that the foresail was 
endangered. The Captain still stood gazing fix¬ 
edly, as a blacksmith stands watching the steel 
slowly grow to a whitish welding heat, and then 
when such exact point is reached, his dexterity and 
rapidity of action is astonishing. It was the same 
“with Captain Tilden when he decided his “iron” 
was ready. 

The oxygen-bearing air rushed affinitively to the 
conflagration. The roaring furnace in the coal bin 
sent up fierce flames that reached high for sail and 
gear, the while eating the oaken deck. The crew 
even on the windward distinctly felt the hellish 
heat. 

As an eagle bent on the safety of her brood, again 
the Captain’s eye turned aft. Jim stood bent for¬ 
ward almost double scarcely able to resist the gale 
from which he shielded the babe. Sturgis on the 
wheel opposite the helmsman, ready for the order, 
strained sight and hearing. 

Finally Tilden’s hogshead chest slowly filled. 
His eyes came back to the hole in the deck now big 
enough to insert a barrel. He yet waited; then his 
mouth assumed a funnel shape and ejected three 
bits of high explosive that detonated when they 
struck eager ears at the wheel: 


THE WHIRLWIND 


142 

“Starboard!” An instant’s pause—then the other 
two followed as gunshots into every ear: “Hard 
over!” 

Instantly, both men with all their strength and 
weight plied the wheel. The barquentine instantly 
lowered; her head into the gale’s teeth straightway 
turned. Of the fire malignantly eating towards her 
heart she was yet unmindful. 

Captain Tilden signalled to Jim to come to him. 
The fast chilling babe in his arms caused the lad to 
hesitate. Divining this, the Captain shook his head 
and made him understand. As he came with the 
child towards the Captain, Jim’s feet barely touched 
the drenched deck. The ship was full in stays, 
her head sails shook violently; the main and mizzen 
sheet shivered and slapped viciously, and as soon 
as released of strain, came amidship with their 
noisily dragging booms. A veritable bedlam is a 
ship thrown into stays. 

“Steady there!” the Captain shouted to the men 
at the wheel who were now nearly suffocated with 
the gas and smoke that carried directly to them. 

The ship now head on, rose high to the heavy seas, 
only to pitch headlong as they passed. 

Holding the child in one arm, the other tight 
around the foremost gasket, Jim stood behind the 
Captain. He and the infant were the only souls 
on board who did not know that the next order 


THE WHIRLWIND 


143 


meant either death to all—or delivery. The men 
needed only a warning look to hold fast. Easily 
above the gale, in voice steady, sure, unhurried, the 
Captain shouted: 

“Port the helm—hard over!” 

Then for the first time since he had seen the 
treachery that had been done, he took the infant in 
his arms. He settled it at his chest under his right 
arm, his left passed around the gasket. 

“Hold fast, Jim!” and then his face changed to 
graven marble, conscious that the monosyllables 
might be his last. 

The ship reasoning like a human, came out of 
stays, and as a needle goes to the magnetic north, 
she answered her helm. She preferred suicide to 
being eaten from within—charred to the water’s 
edge by fire. 

The main sails caught the rushing air and their 
booms carried over. As a rocking chair precipi¬ 
tated backward, the heavy blocks crashed home; 
the ship went over—over—over—until the fore 
royal, even the trucks of the foremast were in the 
lumpy sea, and the deck was vertical. 

The sailors, clinging anywhere they could, saw 
their dunnage go. Sure now that he was drowning 
the fire, they saw their Captain suspended in the air, 
one long arm around the gasket and the babe held 
tightly to his breast. The green sea splashed with 



144 


THE WHIRLWIND 


foam was half way up to the vertical deck and held 
there. Yes, the burning hole the Captain was 
waiting for, was submerged. Into the liberal open¬ 
ing the sea rushed. Geyser-like, clouds of steam 
rushed out with the hissing and roar of a demon 
hell-bent. 

The Captain seemed certain of what the ship 
would do, as he hung his eyes bent on the hole that 
now drank solid water. 

Jim hanging with both hands, knew the ship was 
prostrated flat on her beam’s end . . . Would she 
ever right herself?—Wasn’t she foundering now? 

In time interminable to all except Captain Til- 
den, the specific gravity of the carefully stowed 
cargo, began a mighty effort. Twice the royals 
raised slowly out of water to be driven back again 
as though all the devils in Hell held them down. 
The ship struggled silently but fiercely. Captain 
Tilden with the babe at his heart, determinedly 
willed. It gained—it was righting now slowly; a 
little more—just a little more and she would answer 
her rudder. 

As she gradually conquered, Sturgis, long skilled 
in the art of righting a ship, coaxed her over to 
where the wind would send her scudding across 
the Atlantic, instead of driving her down to a grave 
in Biscay. 

Once she overcame the gale’s unfair leverage, 


THE WHIRLWIND 


145 


like a giant bird wheeling for an onward course, 
the ship’s masts came vertical, and tearfully joyful, 
the whirling foam-sprinkled waters began to leave 
her stern. 

The barquentine Durland was again on her course 
but sadly wounded. 

Captain Tilden dropped while the deck was yet 
slanting, but not before Jim. The infant had been 
exposed to a winter gale too long. Jim grasped 
her and lightly, swiftly, ran to the cabin. 

The Captain ordered some men to the pumps; 
some between decks to throw overboard the still 
smoking cinders and partly burned coals. 


CHAPTER XII 


The Captain saw the men jump to their work, 
then went slowly aft to relieve Sturgis, and to his 
credit it must be said that in his own action he took 
no pride, but the barquentine Durland arose a 
hundred per cent in his estimation. Under such a 
strain, the average mast as if made of candy, would 
have snapped. That the seams had not opened, was 
all he now wanted to know. 

In almost a moment, the Princess, swaddled in 
bed, was unromantically sucking through a new 
Spanish rubber teat, warm milk just yielded by the 
goat. Jim was coddling her to be sure she should 
not suffer from exposure, while Captain Tilden 
without hurt or emotion, was scanning the surface 
of the sea for submarines. 

The heavy seas were running with the north 
wind. The crest of the more venturesome un¬ 
dulations gave off wisps of cutting spray. The 
sea suggested storm clouds viewed from above, or 
an expanse of sand or snow, but fantasy formed 
into quaint shapes, and over which, phantom like, 
the ship moved westward, knowing every knot 
added to her safety. 


146 


THE WHIRLWIND 


147 


“Most too lumpy for either enemy or friend,” 
the Captain muttered. He saw Sturgis coming. 

“The ship’s side at the load line is burned so weak 
that if that side were to weather, she would stove a 
hole as big as a hatchway, but the seams are all 
snug,” was his report. 

“We’ll have to keep that side on the lee until 
you get it patched,” the Captain replied. 

“It won’t take long, sir.” 

“Did the men lose all their dunnage, Sturgis?” 

“No, not all, but they’re not grumbling. The 
men found these hanging on the port gaskets.” 
Sturgis handed him a soaking bundle. 

The Captain bent forward and with both hands 
took it from the old seaman as though it were a 
delicate, rich gift—for so it was for him. It was 
a message from the forecastle—from the rough 
men there who now trusted him through and 
through. 

He laid the tiny garments down carefully as 
though fragile, and began to pace the deck. His 
voice resonant and clear to give the life or death 
command—the big order that both risked and saved 
the ship and lives—at the sight of the infant’s 
soaked swaddling clothes, failed. The aching lump 
in his throat passed, but emotion kept his eyes 
filled. 

Jim came up an hour later to say that the galley 


148 


THE WHIRLWIND 


had been cleared and that the mid-day meal was 
now ready. Even then the Captain could only nod 
and point to the bundle, but later when Sturgis came 
to relieve him his voice had regained its lustiness. 

'‘Drive her to the limit, Sturgis, until we’re 
through the zone!” 

Nothing in the cabin now indicated that the deck 
had been vertical long enough to break a lot of 
dishes and carry everything movable in one direction. 
Even the tablecloth had been gravity carried; his 
books and papers had fallen to the port side in a 
scrambled mass and the fixed inkwell had been partly 
emptied. Jim, however, had already restored every¬ 
thing to its customary place. 

“That boy is a genius—must be—to get things 
in order like this!” exclaimed the Captain as he 
surveyed the cabin. 

At that minute Jim appeared with a hot meal in 
a long wooden tray, which he deftly anchored though 
the ship was inclining her deck to forty-five degrees. 
The child he brought and suspended in her usual 
place, although the Captain’s request was unspoken. 

Captain Tilden looked and laughed when the 
Princess threw her bottle away—then smiled at him. 
From a deep tin cup he sipped the piping hot soup, 
content. 

As their eyes met after gazing at the child, upon 
both the Captain and Jim fell the chilling effect of 


THE WHIRLWIND 


149 


Bates’ scandalous reference to the babe. Though 
understood, and discredited by both, he, Bates, 
absent and far away still had power to depress 
them. 

The circular dining table, the Captain’s chair and 
the Mate’s chair were all bolted down. Across, the 
Princess’ combination chair and crib swung from the 
cabin timbers so that her position was nearly the 
same as if she were seated at the table between 
them. 

The Captain ate his liquid food. 

“Ji m > have you any theory about the origin of 
the fire?” 

“I know so little about how fires start in a ship.” 

“This fire was either spontaneous or incendiary— 
which was it, do you think?” The Captain spoke 
slowly, looking deliberately at Jim, who wanted 
time to consider before replying. 

The Captain was now sure that Jim looked better 
and had plumped out, as he observed him closely. 
His raven hair had the natural gloss of health. He 
had discarded the Navy uniform though his shirt 
was still blue flannel buttoned high at the throat. 
The gaunt, bony look about the rump was mended, 
perhaps by more roomy suspendered trousers. 

“Do you believe a fire would start by itself in this 
ship?” Jim broke the silence. 

“Not unless Bates left something to aid combus- 


150 


THE WHIRLWIND 


tion—rags or waste, saturated with linseed oil. Do 
you think we have a traitor in the crew?” 

“No—none in the crew’,” Jim instantly responded. 

“Then it narrows down to Bates. We know that 
he tried to wreck us by putting the rudder out of 
commission. Careful preparations had to be made 
to start this fire, and to make them, one must have 
murder in his heart.” 

“Is Bates insane enough to want to destroy the 
ship?” asked Jim with burning eyes. 

“I have thought of it until my head feels cracked. 
Insane—some of his mental apparatus gone—per¬ 
haps; his vicious rascality is too well planned for 
that. It reaches too far; it calls for our lives; I 
cannot fathom it. Is he after the ship or me, or 
you, or the babe?” Then looking intently at Jim, 
he continued: 

“Sometimes I feel it is the child.” 

Jim’s eyes met the Captain’s only to fall instantly. 
He did not respond at once. The ship rolled heavily 
to port bringing the suspended crib close to him. 
He looked at the child fondly, then realizing that 
he might be misunderstood, he began, slowly: 

“In his first machinations, the child did not figure, 
but his mind is so twisted that anything—any one— 
decent or innocent, he hates. I—I think the trouble 
over the child furnished just what he wanted—the 
excuse for deserting at the Azores after planning so 


THE WHIRLWIND 


151 


well to make us an easy victim of the submarines or 
storms. You—your seamanship, your bravery and 
endurance—you have performed the impossible and 
beat a game to—murder us all!” Jim stopped. 

The Captain drew a long breath and, turned 
slightly. Being human, he could not resist a feel¬ 
ing of elation. Jim had voiced so feelingly the 
admiration of his heart. 

“But what could I have done without a loyal 
crew—a crew made loyal by you and the child?— 
How could I, alone, have discovered the dissolving 
rudder head?—• The storm would have finished us 
in half an hour. Jim, the crew is the feet, legs and 
arms of a ship. Whoever holds them, holds the 
ship.” 

“That I can see, Captain,” Jim began, smiling 
only with his eyes—“but how far will the feet and 
legs go without a head? The plan to drown us 
where any disaster could be laid to winter weather 
or submarines, was defeated by you, the head.” 

Captain Tilden had finished eating.- His elbow 
came up so that his bronzed fist supported his temple. 
His upstanding hair framed a calmly exultant face. 
The boy—he regarded Jim as but a boy—had rea¬ 
soned so well and had audibly credited him, yet at 
the same time, tactfully. 

“So far he is whipped, but I’m afraid we’re not 
yet through with him.” The Captain’s teeth came 


152 


THE WHIRLWIND 


together so hard that lumps formed at the angle of 
his jaws. The eagle-like beak flattening slightly 
at the end gave his face the hard pugnacity of the 
bulldog. 

“Twenty-four hours more of north wind that 
we’ve got now and we’ll—” He got up resolutely, 
grasping the back of his chair as if he would strip 
the bolt heads that fastened it down. He scanned 
Jim’s face. 

“Jim, do you still feel sure you w r ant to learn 
navigation?” 

“The sea has been my friend. I have recovered. 
Yes—I am sure.” 

“We’ll get at it then just as soon as we’re out 
of this zone.” 

Realizing the danger none of the crew needed 
urging. Orders were obeyed with a snap and ginger 
only possible when individual prudence and high 
morale are shaking hands. Worse weather to make 
even temporary repairs could not have been im¬ 
agined, but no one grumbled, for it meant speed 
and the absence of submarines when the biting 
north blew a gale. The seas mountain high and 
the trough a dark canyon, every hand and mind 
urged the ship along. Speed—speed—the ship’s 
head must swing to the southward before they 
would be out of danger. Then it was that he, the 
Master of the ship, took a second and long sleep. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


153 


A great man offered a small book on the '‘Mys¬ 
teries of Sleep, 1 ' with the modest suggestion that it 
might stimulate thought—that we might benefit by 
trying to learn how and why like the current of the 
ocean, man is moved by unseen power. Reason¬ 
ably, sweetly, with some proof, he sets down that 
sleep is a daily demise and resuscitation therefrom 
—veritably a miracle that we may be instructed and 
otherwise benefited in a suitable unknown sphere; 
something, however,—so he claims—not at all nec¬ 
essary for resting the body. 

What was added to or taken from Captain Til- 
den while he slept this time, was not so evident to 
him as it was to Jim. With the Princess Ann 
again beside him, they went joyously wandering in 
a world where all little children remain most of the 
time. Afterward, when awake and about his du¬ 
ties, he felt something of that chastening world 
clinging to him. His self-confidence and sense of 
humor were fully restored. 

It was given to him to show that he should not 
take himself, or others, too seriously, for the great 
and final responsibility was God’s—not his. 

Sturgis had by that time made more permanent 
repairs. The ship for the first time, became nor¬ 
mal. 

Jim and the Captain stood watch and watch. Stur¬ 
gis was on Jim’s watch to assist and instruct him. 


154 


THE WHIRLWIND 


The Captain also took much time when he might 
have slept, to teach Jim. He seemed to find more 
rest and pleasure in so doing than in sleeping. 

The boy’s mind worked rapidly and was so re¬ 
tentive that repetition was seldom necessary. His 
teacher and mentor was astonished by the rapidity 
and accuracy of his mathematical calculations. His 
body grew strong, supple and springy. He went 
aloft with the men and proved himself as good a 
sailor as the best. The indications of malady dis¬ 
appeared. The cracked tremulousness of his voice 
was succeeded by a timbre like a youth’s—thin, but 
resonant and carried clear and strong in noise and 
wind. 

By acts of consideration and deference, though 
without purposive or noticeable effort, he awakened 
the paternal instinct in the Captain. 

The crew was to have a special dinner the first 
Sunday after their deliverance from the hands of 
their dual enemy. A pig, some poultry, fresh vege¬ 
tables and sweetmeats were sacrificed to establish 
a holiday atmosphere. 

Jim, who had originally suggested it, was about 
the galley to see to its preparation. The crew had 
improvised a table forward on the main deck under 
an awning and summer skies, instead of lines and 
weather sheets. With some wine from Spain, the 
Captain’s health was drunk. On watch, he stopped 


THE WHIRLWIND 


155 


his measured tread across the deck to indulgently 
acknowledge it. Immediately thereafter they pro¬ 
posed the health of the Mate, who must come out 
and smile. Then they called for Princess Ann, nor 
would a smile and a nod from the poop deck satisfy 
them—she must be produced in their midst. It was 
easy to see that the most potent factor on board 
was the little stowaway—age variously estimated 
from six to nine months. 

The hardships endured were forgotten. To them 
she was a Princess. Somewhat stimulated with 
drink, but without misbehavior, they ate their fill. 
As soon as they were through, in all seriousness 
they formed two lines between which she must be 
carried from her position at the head of the table 
to the cabin where she mounted in her usual place 
beside the table there. 

This was the first time since he had come aboard 
the Durland that Captain Tilden could eat unre¬ 
strained either by fear or apprehension. Sturgis 
took the deck when he went below. ~ 

The Princess, acknowledged Queen of the Fore¬ 
castle, was suspended from the cabin timbers as 
usual, but now asleep, as he entered the room. The 
coarse, improvised clothing had been discarded and 
she wore her finery to-day. Jim came in with the 
last of the steaming festive meal, arranged it on 
the table, and then sat down opposite the Captain. 


156 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“Jim,” the Captain began amiably, “you arrange 
a table delightfully; this would do credit to an ex¬ 
pert housewife.” 

“I’m glad you’re pleased; if one takes a little in¬ 
terest one can do almost anything.” Jim did not 
smile at the compliment—he seldom smiled. He 
seemed to be guided and controlled by a resolution 
so grave that he overlooked the shadow effect of 
the absence of smiles. This shadow kept Tilden 
silent for a time. 

“Jim,” the Captain finally began again, “it’s not 
hard for me to see who is the real Master of the 
ship.” The Captain beamed at the child who, kit¬ 
ten-like, had gone asleep grasping the bottle of 
fresh goat’s milk. “I never will understand it; I 
find most of the crew have no real home ties, and 
they worship a child.—I believe that she was all that 
kept more than half of the men from leaving at 
Bilboa.” 

Jim stopped eating and looked at the child a mo¬ 
ment before replying. 

“One thing we are indebted to Bates for is that 
he aroused the crew’s sense of fair play.” Then 
looking squarely at the Captain with the slightest 
twinkle, he asked: “But whom must we thank for 
—for the child?” 

“Jim, I don’t know and I don’t care. I am not 
disposed to look a gift horse in the mouth. When 


THE WHIRLWIND 


157 


we get back to a home port it may be our duty to 
inquire—” 

“Captain, I don't see it. What difference does it 
make who her parents are?— They don’t want 
her, or she wouldn’t be here.” 

“We are not concerned—I feel the same way— 
but inquiry may be necessary.” 

“On the other hand, inquiry may start trouble. 
Do you realize that we—that you have become very 
much attached to her? That this voyage would be 
almost unbearable, if not impossible, without her? 
That she was, and is, a gift of Providence?” Jim’s 
voice was low and tender. 

The Captain glanced at the suspended sailormade 
crib and then up at the skylight beyond, without 
raising his head. 

“Jim, I realize all that and more. For few young 
men are interested enough in children to make the 
personal sacrifice that you have done for this one. 
You must have had some unusual experiences.” 

“I have had, but I hate discussing anything per¬ 
sonal,” said Jim, lowering his eyes. 

“Isn’t it just possible that your reticence misled 
Bates? I think you should know that he—” 

“I know all. Unwillingly eavesdropping I heard 
everything and like all eavesdroppers, I heard un¬ 
pleasant things. He told you the child was mine. 
He had told me a half hour before that it was yours. 


158 


THE WHIRLWIND 


All that I know about it is that it’s a girl baby, a 
human being;” then he tenderly added; “that’s 
enough.” 

“Eh—Jim, Bates is so thorough a rascal he stops 
at nothing, but his, as all lies do, fall flat soon. I 
took this ship for a definite purpose. What Bates 
or any one says or does, shall not defeat that pur¬ 
pose!” the Captain asserted, his jaws snapping to¬ 
gether. 

“Whatever his purpose, so far Bates has suc¬ 
ceeded in making things exceedingly difficult. The 
storms, his cunning attempts—leaving you without 
a mate—no other living man but yourself could 
have overcome the obstacles—” 

Here the Princess opened her eyes, squirmed and 
grunted a request for a sitting posture. Jim raised 
and fastened her securely. 

“Captain,” began Jim as he resumed his seat, 
“for some time I have wanted to tell you some¬ 
thing; it’s in a way a confession. Until now I’m 
not sure you would understand. I deceived Mr. 
Simmons when he engaged me in New Orleans as 
a cook. I have continued the deception, though I 
think you have suspected. I never served in the 
Navy—the use of the uniform was to deceive. 
Though there is a true hospital story, it is nothing 
like the one I told Mr. Simmons, but one that makes 


THE WHIRLWIND 


159 


the care of this child—any child—an outright com¬ 
fort.” 

At this point in the story, the door opened and a 
steaming hot plum pudding was brought in from 
the galley. A smile lurked about the Captain’s 
face while he waited for the pudding to cool. 

“Jim, I don’t care what you told Simmons.” 

“Well, perhaps I am thinking about myself— 
about my future. As long as I was the ship’s cook 
it didn’t matter, but now—” 

Still smiling, the Captain held up his hand: 

“Jim, you need not tell me anything unless you 
feel that the telling of it serves a useful purpose.” 

“I know just what you mean,” said Jim, “and 
I want to tell you, but at the same time want to 
warn you that in confessing, I make important 
reservations. First, do I look as though I had 
any chronic, contagious disease?” 

“Jim, you look wonderfully healthy now. You 
have mended so much. Your chest has swelled out 
like a pouter pigeon’s; your fingers were like claws 
or talons; now they are as plump as a woman’s; 
your cheek bones were hectic; your hips hat racks, 
and your legs would ramrod a squirrel rifle, but 
now— 

Jim laughed—a laugh that Tilden had not heard 
before from him. 


160 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“For you to know* I have completely recovered, 
is vital.” Jim grew serious again. “I have been 
married; we had a child—the first child—it would 
be about the same age as this one. My mate sud¬ 
denly died. The malady was said to be so con¬ 
tagious that I was rushed off into isolation and I 
became ill. The child—all I had left—was taken 
from me; oh, it was such a brutal thing—” Jim’s 
voice broke. “I thought I could talk of it— Well, 
when I came out of the delirium they told me my 
child was dead, and—and—that I must remain iso¬ 
lated. I was alone in a hut out on a marsh; a 
darky brought me food and things once a day. I 
was sure I did not have—” 

The Captain ate his food slowly with eyes down¬ 
cast. The lad’s broken narration recalled his own 
recent suffering. He saw his food indistinctly 
for a moment. Sturgis’ steady pace across the deck 
was all that broke the dead silence. 

Jim continued: 

“How I escaped needs not matter now. I was so 
weak, I staggered. I waded a long way through 
an alligator infested marsh, at times almost waist 
deep. I was insane, I think, then. When near the 
city, I was taken in, nursed and fed by a miracle of 
Providence. I recovered strength fast. My new 
found friends gave me a Navy uniform complete 
even to cap, tie, shoes and stockings. The story- 


THE WHIRLWIND 


161 


except for the clothes, was carefully concocted. I 
told it to the Employment Agency. To Mr. Sim¬ 
mons in New Orleans, I repeated it. This is my 
confession which I make to partially ease my mind. 
Like you, I could not before coming aboard, know 
anything of this babe—Bates, or any one now con¬ 
nected with this ship.” 

“I can’t see that any one is injured—” 

“No one;” Jim with vigor went on: “but by 
means of my story, I got employment at sea, and 
the child. Why, any child—white, black, brown or 
yellow, would have been devoured by my starved 
affection. Captain, I believe that if any one is de¬ 
ceived to their advantage, they are not deceived at 
all.” 

“Jim, your logic is sound. Your course is much 
better than mourning. It has lately come to me that 
he who persistently mourns for those passed on, 
is thinking only of himself. This little child, this 
human mystery, has opened the door. Now I can 
see plainly enough that grief and mourning after 
the first pangs of final parting, is Simon pure 
eighteen-carat selfishness. I—mine—ours—have 
been deprived of—what? With patient incon¬ 
sistency or rank hypocrisy, we deck our hats, arms, 
and bodies with black, the accepted emblem of death, 
to signalize their advent into what we believe is 
Paradise.” 



162 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“I understand you. You ask: ‘Why mourn when 
I know my baby lives—will grow and be taught in 
celestial surroundings?’ The parent deprived of a 
first child, when matrimony was largely entered into 
because of the desire for one, will not let reason be 
the guide. As if lacking confidence in God, they 
let will power, courage and light leave their hearts 
and they miserably mourn.” 

“Time—time, Jim. Our sixth sense is more re¬ 
liable than all the rest combined, but it receives im¬ 
pressions leisurely and you can’t hurry it.” 

“Like Spanish justice?” Jim smilingly asked. 

“Eh, Jim, yes; a case in point without facts to 
back it. I now believe Bates to be a plausible liar 
with underground connection with this ship. What 
it is does not worry me now. How he was going 
to benefit by wrecking us, is beyond me, however.” 
Tilden was looking apparently at Princess Ann, 
while leisurely filling his pipe. “It is evident he 
has done his best, and I repeat that I feel we are 
not through with him—but let him come. I have 
twice taken her through the hottest spot on earth. 
I have reestablished myself on the sea, and best of 
all, established a self-confidence that cannot be 
shaken to the crack of doom. But, Jim—” he 
stopped and looked at the boy, and then at the babe 
over the blazing match held to his tobacco— “it 
would be rank ingratitude if I forgot those who 


i 


THE WHIRLWIND 


163 


helped me to do this.— You’ve had pretty good 
schooling, haven’t you?” The Captain looked at 
Jim long and consideringly. 

“Yes,” the other replied, somewhat abruptly. 

“I thought so. It is indicated by your readiness 
in calculations, and use of common sense.” He 
took the child out of the crib and holding it against 
his heart, turned to the former cook. 

“Jim, you’ll soon be a real Mate, and this—” 
glancing at the babe—“is the real Master of the 
ship!” 


CHAPTER XIII 


They had fair weather during the whole four 
weeks that followed, arriving at the entrance to the 
Panama New Year’s Day. 

It was not hard for Jim to learn and gradually 
assume the responsibilities of Mate because Sturgis 
and every man of the crew was eager and willing 
to help by doing his part well. At the time they 
arrived at the Colon end of the canal, he felt at 
home when in charge. There Captain Tilden went 
ashore to report to Mr. Simmons that he might get 
any supplementary instructions at Panama, at the 
other end of the Canal. 

Captain Tilden and Jim, after failing to connect 
any of the crew with Bates’ activities, decided he 
had played a lone hand. They expected to hear 
from him again but hardly expected the man to 
show up as soon as he did. 

Jim had noticed the old Norwegian tub Norman 
Queen precede them into the Gatun Locks. From 
a distance it looked like a dirty, rickety, river boat, 
bare amidship down to the main deck, with little 
free board and a two-story dog house cocked up 

164 


THE WHIRLWIND 


165 


astern. Articles to go deep sea with her, was 
nothing less than a suicidal pact. At this time any¬ 
thing could get a charter that floated long enough 
to take cargo. 

Though the Norman Queen was released from 
the docks some two hours ahead of them and was 
crawling through the Gatun Lake under her power, 
the Durland being well towed, was passing them 
about a thousand feet to the starboard. 

Jim was on the watch. To the naked eye she 
was but a ferry boat. It was stark madness to have 
let her rampage clear across the Atlantic. Favor¬ 
able weather alone had let her succeed. The flag 
of Norway was painted on her sides. An officer 
of the Norman Queen was looking at them. Jim 
saw him lower the glasses and walk forward. Some¬ 
thing in his nervous slouch reminded him of Bates. 
At that distance, even with glasses, he could not 
distinguish features. It was an officer, anyhow, 
though the only evidence of that was the cap. 

“Bates is too big a coward to go to sea in a craft 
like that,” Jim muttered to himself. Perhaps he 
never would have thought of it again had not the 
Norwegian vessel been locked with them at Mira- 
flores. The Locks being some thousand feet long, 
there was plenty of room there for the Durland 
and the Scandinavian boat. 

In the first Lock she stopped as soon as she 


166 


THE WHIRLWIND 


had crawled in far enough for the gate to close, re¬ 
maining well astern of the Durland. 

But when they moved into the second Lock, the 
trouble started. The officer in charge on the 
Norman Queen might have sleepily delayed giving 
the order; or the engineer was unable to stop the 
decrepit power plant with any accuracy. But be¬ 
fore she wheezed her last, she had forged so far 
ahead that she threatened to foul the Durland. 

As soon as a collision was imminent, Jim called 
to some sailors who were washing down the deck, 
to bring a sea mat, but the Norsky Tramp by good 
luck cleared the Durland and finally stopped waist 
to waist, about six feet away—her main deck con¬ 
siderably below the Durland’s. 

Jim paid no attention; he and Sturgis were busy 
getting everything ready to clap on sail the mo¬ 
ment the tug dropped them outside the breakwater. 
He was accordingly astonished to hear his name 
called from the Norwegian craft. He mounted a 
bit to better see over the rail. 

“Hello, Jim; you didn’t beat me here much.” 
From under a gold braided cap, the small, narrow 
spaced eyes of Bates gloated. 

“Hello, Bates.” Jim put his elbows on the rail 
to take a close-up of the steamer, then added signifi¬ 
cantly : “I should say you have been busy.” 

Bates glanced down at the dirty, scummy, dis- 


THE WHIRLWIND 


167 


ordered deck below him, and then back to the 
painted, washed, scoured, shipshape Durland. 

“Nothing but luck brought us through. They 
robbed a graveyard all right, but—” he added 
quickly, “this flag counts through Biscay, you 
know.” He ended with the question: “Where’s 
the old man?” 

“Asleep.” 

“Tm coming aboard a minute—want to see him.” 
Bates shifted to spring to the Durland’s rail. 

Jim shook his head. 

“You can’t come aboard, Bates.” 

“But I’ve got something for him—at Colon I 
heard from Simmons. I got to tell him something.” 

“I’m in charge now; I’ll pass any word.” 

At this, Jim stepped off the bit and moved astern 
somewhat to avoid the water from the hose the 
men were using to wash down the deck. 

Jim had momentarily forgotten the way Bates 
was regarded by the Durland’s crew, and was quite 
unprepared for their action. He had not seen the 
glitter that came into their eyes when Bates said 
he was coming aboard. With the brazen assurance 
of one who has done murder without yet feeling 
the halter, Bates jumped. To spring across a six- 
foot chasm with a rise of two feet, is not easy at 
any time. Meeting while in mid air an inch and 
a half stream from a lustily moved deck pump does 


168 


THE WHIRLWIND 


not help. Blinded and impeded by the water, Bates 
failed to reach the rail and fell with a great splash 
between the two ships. 

The pump men were rewarded by hearing Jim’s 
laugh—they had never heard it before. To them 
it had the ring of silver bells—but it ceased as sud¬ 
denly, as it began. 

When Jim leaned over the rail to look, he became 
alarmed. A navy blue cap with two broad tinsel 
bands about it, and the coat of arms of Norway in 
metal fastened in front, was some two feet be¬ 
low the surface with no immediate tendency to rise. 
Hurriedly he motioned, but the sailors didn’t move. 
Instead, with grin and pump action, they said 
plainly enough: “Let the fool drown!’’ 

Jim had just been told that some millions of 
gallons of water were now leaving the Locks every 
minute. He knew well enough that if Bates ^ere 
near one of the openings through which it left, 
the numerous sharks around the Panama breakwater 
would soon have some indifferent food, and the 
Norwegian steamer would be short handed. 

It flashed on Jim how Bates must feel when be¬ 
ing irresistibly sucked down. He was instantly 
moved to pity. When the deck man of the steamer 
threw a line and then lowered a ladder, he was 
glad; but when Bates, while still holding to the lad¬ 
der, let loose a flood of obscene profanity, his lips 


THE WHIRLWIND 


169 


tightened. He wondered if, after all, the sharks 
were not entitled to something. 

They were out of the Locks and headed south 
under full sail before Captain Tilden came up. Jim, 
with Sturgis’ help, had managed it so that nothing 
was needed; even the course was pronounced cor¬ 
rect. 

At dinner that day the Captain seemed confirmed 
in his reasoning that the conduct of all men, in¬ 
cluding himself, was at times absurd. He had 
placed the Princess in her swinging chair, talking 
to her meanwhile in endearing terms. 

Jim told him about Bates. 

“Eh—the men did right. Had I seen him, I 
would have tossed him overboard like a rat or any 
vermin.” 

“I thought so. Captain, do you think he is com¬ 
municating with Mr. Simmons?” 

“Maybe—brassy boldness is his disease. It 
grows on me that Bates is somehow closer to Sim¬ 
mons than I first thought. He appears to have a 
hold on him—how, I cannot decide. We’d better 
watch him, Jim. Like a shark, he’s ready to show 
his yellow belly and strike. He’s a madman—some¬ 
thing suggests a diseased mind blindly impelled by 
fetish, and therefore, to be constantly watched.” 

Jim looked with lively concern at the big chest 
and long arms. 


170 


THE WHIRLWIND 


The Captain went on: 

“I got mail at Colon. We discharge at VaF 
paraiso and take on nitrate; for where, Simmons 
did not say—I hope for the States. From this I 
get a hunch that the vessel’s for sale. I get it from 
other Masters here that sound bottoms filled with 
nitrate are snapped up by North Sea money; if so, 
that means we will come home in a steamer to look 
for another ship.” 

“Why should you care?” 

“The underwriters will know everything, I guess. 
We saved them twice from loss.” 

“Then you have nothing to worry about—” 

“No, indeed; on the contrary, Jim, we’ll be paid 
—well paid.” 

The Captain’s eyes opened wide, his brows ele¬ 
vated, beaming at the Princess. The child’s laugh 
thrilled both as a stamp of approval from the world 
of innocence. Jim flushed slightly. Tilden con¬ 
trolled himself and looked straight at Jim. Again 
his glance was most considerate. 

“I don’t mind telling you again, Jim, that with¬ 
out you and the inspiration of this little mite, I now 
believe I would have failed wretchedly. Something 
to strive for, Jim; and it was she—this bit of soft, 
helpless flesh who held the crew. Wonderful— 
wonderful!” 

“Yes—but what’s going to happen?” 


THE WHIRLWIND 


171 


“Eh, Jim, I know what you’re thinking. I have 
considered that too. You love the child, yes—more 
than I do—don’t you see we are tied together by 
her? I can do it—I can put it through. You must 
study—work; so you can qualify in the States for 
a Mate’s license. Then—then, do you understand? 
We’ve got to have a steamer, and a good one.’ , 

“But I may not be able,” hesitated Jim, expelling 
a deep, indrawn breath, and evidently more than a 
little flurried. 

“Don’t I know? Even now you know the sextant 
and can figure position quicker than I can, and 
didn’t I see you lead the sailors aloft as though this 
was your second time on earth, and the first was 
spent on sea. Jim, you can do it all.” 

Jim did not at once want to reply. Instead he 
asked: 

“Have you any idea what Bates wanted?” 

“I don’t care; something rotten, I’ll be bound— 
Bates is devilish!” 

“Bates will be in Valparaiso—he hates me—be¬ 
cause—well, he will try to make me trouble—for—” 
evidently there was something that Jim left unsaid. 
But apparently the Captain did not notice, for he 
went on. 

“Why fear him now that we know him? How 
far would his word go against mine and the whole 
crew? No—no, Jim; have peace—you can tie knots 


172 


THE WHIRLWIND 


in his scruff. A snake relies upon being unseen and 
unheard—when you know they are about, it’s easy 
to scotch them. Again maybe that old ferry boat 
he’s in may fall to pieces before it gets that far.” 
The Captain ended by rising and taking up 
Princess Ann. 

“Yes, indeed,” he went on, fondling the child as 
he stood within the door of his room, “we’ll have 
to be careful of her now. Two weeks of the hot¬ 
test place on earth, and then south of the equator 
into continuous midsummer, Jim.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


How amazingly beneficent is the provision that 
we cannot see what the future holds for us. 

Just as soon as the vessel was tied up for dis¬ 
charge in Valparaiso, they were told the Norman 
Queen, consigned to the same firm, had put into 
Callao, Peru, for repairs. 

In discussing it, both Captain Tilden and Jim evi¬ 
denced relief that this unlovely human monkey 
wrench would not, just yet, threaten the gearing 
of the Durland which had been running smoothly 
since they left the Canal, and landed every one well 
and fairly happy on the west coast of South Amer¬ 
ica—thirty-three degrees south latitude. 

What they did not know was that a passenger 
steamer touching at Callao, was soon due at Val¬ 
paraiso. Then, too, there was something rather 
vague, mysterious even about Simmons’ instruc¬ 
tions which awaited Captain Tilden there. But 
then scarcely any one could understand how com¬ 
plicated and difficult it was at that time for either 
cargo or ship to claim insurance. 

Captain Tilden, Jim, and of course the Princess 
were sitting after sundown on the poop deck over 

173 


m 


THE WHIRLWIND 


which an awning had been raised to protect them 
from the semi-tropic sun now approaching the sum¬ 
mer solstice, and the sudden, frequent and freakish 
Niagara-like showers. 

“Jim, did you ever see a cargo go out so quick? 
You’d think there wasn’t a piece of soap or a gal¬ 
lon of wine left on this coast. That old lame dog 
the Norman Queen, has the same kind of cargo 
and they’re waiting for her as though they couldn’t 
eat until she shows up.” The Captain was in a 
deck chair smoking. They were facing the flicker¬ 
ing lights of the city far above them, the inclined 
cable railway leading to it, and the ungainly cars, 
ghost-like, moving up and down. 

Captain Tilden’s strange, cask-like body was more 
mysterious when thinly clad. Jim had noticed, when 
walking with him, that no one ever looked at his 
shoes or legs, nor his eagle-like beak or his long 
arms. The tremendous chest and abdomen which 
had to taper to connect decently with his pelvis, 
were what brought a second look even from the 
unobservant. 

“I hope we get out of here before the Norwegian 
arrives.” They had been silent some time when 
Jim spoke. He sat on a stool, leaning against an 
awning stanchion. The Princess was asleep in a 
deck chair within easy reach. 


THE WHIRLWIND 175 

“You’re thinking of Bates; he won’t trouble us 
any more.” 

“I’m not so sure. While I have come to think 
Bates pitiable, he is none the less wicked.” 

“Well, he’ll have to come pretty soon. We’ve 
got a little over a thousand tons of nitrate aboard— 
all she’ll carry. My clearance papers are all made 
out, ready to fill in the date and port of destina¬ 
tion.” 

“Then why don’t we sail?” 

“That was the order—to rush discharge and load 
to capacity with nitrate. The agents don’t know 
where to either. I have notified Simmons that I’m 
ready to sail—quicker than he expected, I guess. 
Anyhow the delay is up to him. I think I know. 
I am guessing, you see. This nitrate is ordinarily 
used for fertilizer—to raise corn and wheat, but now 
it goes into explosives—to raise Hell!" 

“Then we go to the port bidding the highest 
for this important ingredient of that community?” 

“Eh, Jim; you may have guessed right—-pro¬ 
vided, of course, the underwriters consent. That’s 
the rub—the insurance. I notice all kinds of gentry 
here—French, Italian, English, and others, and the 
North Sea crowd who are wet nursing Germany at 
fancy prices. I hope we get a home port destina¬ 
tion.— Jim, isn’t it remarkable how the Princess 


176 


THE WHIRLWIND 


thrives on goat’s milk? She’s pink and fat; I can 
just see her grow!” 

“Yes, and the goat moves about with so much 
dignity—as though it realized its importance.” 

Early the next morning, Captain Tilden was at 
the office of the Agents, but the night had brought 
neither information nor instructions, and owing to 
the practice of the cable and telegraph company, 
nothing could now arrive until next day. The 
Junior, like all good liars, was endowed—he had 
the face and plausibility to get away with murder. 
An invitation came from him as though it was only 
a happy thought: 

He was going to Santiago by automobile; would 
not the Captain go along? He enlarged upon the 
wonderful scenery en route, and the still more 
beautiful up-to-date Capital of the Republic, with 
the astonishing background of the Andes peak, 
twenty-five thousand feet high, supporting an un¬ 
pronounceable name. Loquacious, this past master 
in practice of guile, spoke English fluently, softly, 
and articulated perfectly. His hands, shoulders 
and head aided punctuation.— Would Captain Til¬ 
den go? 

His automobile that even laughed at the Andes, 
was made in the States—Pennsylvania, to be exact 
—recommended by a personal friend of Charles 
Schwab, the steel magnate. It was brought there 


THE WHIRLWIND 


177 


in one of the Schwab ships that comes for iron ore. 
His errand in Santiago, though important, would 
take but a moment. He would show the Captain 
how the Trans-Andean Railway defied perpetual 
snow to pierce the great granite spine, in order to 
gain the grain fields of the Argentine. He would 
take him to where the water started east into the 
Atlantic Ocean, and—but why listen to this Chilian 
spew, when so much more interesting are the move¬ 
ments of a human being? Especially the one who 
started for the Durland just as soon as unsuspect¬ 
ing Captain Tilden was on his way up the Andes 
listening to the South American patter. Later, the 
Captain had to endorse Jim’s dictum that “If one 
is deceived to his advantage, he is not deceived at 
all” 

The visitor to the Durland was above medium 
height, and bony. The big, ill-shaped Panama was 
too much covering for the spare face. The sub¬ 
stantial, crooked cane was really assisting locomo¬ 
tion, going high and coming down' again with a 
resounding bump at every other step; head bent back 
and up. His brisk, grotesque gait suggested liquor 
weakness in the knees which required constant pro¬ 
nounced effort to resist. 

Two sailors near the forecastle, who had just 
returned from spending their bonus money, were 
throwing kisses at the Princess whose throne had 


178 


THE WHIRLWIND 


been moved amidship under an awning. They saw 
the approaching figure, and laughed good-naturedly. 

“Too early for a gent like that to splice the main 
brace,” Jim heard, and with heightened interest, 
he looked at the stranger. 

Even the simplest forces in nature are so elusive 
that the profoundest men of science, in their search, 
come to a full stop. The greatest forces in affairs 
human, are so modest and unobtrusive that often 
their coming and going is unnoticed. 

This man Fortesque, who was coming towards 
him, Jim had never seen, for he had finished sur¬ 
veying the Durland before Jim had come aboard. 
Captain Tilden afterwards was able to recall him 
by the thoroughness with which he worked, and 
the cane he still used as a feeler, an antenna, for 
punching the cargo. 

Fortesque was at this time perhaps the most im¬ 
portant man in South America because it was he 
who could say whether ships could go or come. But 
he was so quiet and retiring that he attracted but 
little attention. At his hotel he was regarded as 
a bit eccentric because always alone. 

When this most important man came abreast 
the Durland’s bow, he halted, holding behind him 
in both hands his cane as a third leg. He scru¬ 
tinized the name, the bowsprit, then the cutwater. 
She was cargoed a little below the usual load line 


THE WHIRLWIND 


179 


but perfectly trimmed as a leviathan sea fowl ready 
for flight. 

He moved rather nervously toward Jim. To the 
businesslike “Good morning, Sir,” pronounced with 
a decided English accent, Jim responded pleasantly. 

Then, as if to allow his personality to reform 
the first impression, he stopped three or four paces 
from Jim. The cane again became a sort of spinal 
appendix, but this time, kangaroo-like, he leaned 
on it and freed his hands. From his lower vest 
pocket a silver cigarette case was produced. As 
though driving home a point in an argument, he 
tapped the cigarette he extracted, on his thumb 
nail. 

“Ah—let me see—you are Mr. Conroy, the Mate 
of this vessel?” He fumbled for a match. 

Jim nodded, surprised to hear the name. He had 
lived years since he had signed “Jim Conroy” at 
Mobile. Not an uncommon experience, which 
proves the state of mind is what counts; not years. 

“Mr. Conroy,” he stopped to light up, “Mr. Con¬ 
roy, my name is Fortesque—marine insurance. 
You see—ah—we are considering the Durland. We 
—yes—we covered her and her cargo the last two 
voyages from Mobile to Bilboa, and from Bilboa 
here; in fact, I surveyed her just before she left 
Mobile.” 

Jim had absorbed from Captain Tilden the im- 


180 


THE WHIRLWIND 


portance—the vital importance—of insurance, and 
quickly asked: 

"What can I do?” 

Mr. Fortesque removed his caudal prop and 
leisurely moved toward the ship, ostensibly for a 
better view. 

"Er—ah—Mr. Conroy—I came—” He did not 
finish. Catching sight of the Princess, he ex¬ 
claimed: "My Heavens! How beautiful she is— 
she has—I say, what a beautiful child!” Whether 
it was astonishment or delight that moved him, Jim 
could not tell. 

Self-contained, prudent, conservative, Fortesque 
impulsively crossed the plank and kneeled before 
the little child. Fortesque did more; uncovering, 
he bowed. He now looked more angular—older. 
His nose was big and uneven; his cranium was 
bare except the considerable lock which stood up 
in front like the Statue of Liberty, which, with good 
sense, he had not tried to spread all over the New 
York Harbor surrounding it. 

Jim, who had seen the outwardly impassive Cap¬ 
tain do the same thing, as one might before Arbutus 
blooming in the snow, was not surprised. The little 
girl child, as she sat, was marvelous there on the 
white spread. 

The words of the Englishman’s hypnotic chant 
he could not distinguish. He saw him finally pass 


THE WHIRLWIND 


181 


his free hand over the child’s head and back to her 
soft, chubby neck, letting it come to rest a moment 
there, as into the babe’s eyes now opened wonder¬ 
wide, he looked tenderly. Rising, he stepped back, 
again looked closely, seemingly satisfied and re¬ 
lieved, and with the same jerky, nervous move¬ 
ment, returned to the cook. 

“Ah—er—Mr. Conroy, a most amazing child— 
er—I believe that—she is the stowaway you got at 
Mobile?” 

Jim nodded, hardly concealing his astonishment. 

“Mr. Conroy—er—you must not be surprised—I 
can assure you we do not carry a hundred thousand 
pounds insurance without some knowledge of the 
Captain and personnel of the crew. And I don’t 
mind telling you we are pleased with Captain Til* 
den. He ought to have—he ought to have a bet¬ 
ter command.” 

“He is a careful man,” Jim quietly asserted, meet¬ 
ing Fortesque’s approbative search squarely. 

“Mr. Conroy, being careful, alone, doesn’t make 
a sea captain. I know some captains who are so 
careful they ought to be driving oxen. A real ship 
master must be big enough to' hold the crew, have a 
comprehensive knowledge of both ship and cargo. 
He must, every moment, know just what strain his 
ship will stand. He must have the boldness and 
guts to put it on her. No other occupation, busi- 


182 THE WHIRLWIND 

ness or profession calls for such talent—merging 
into genius.” 

As one giving instruction in advanced sea¬ 
manship, Fortesque talked. He brought his stick 
in front, leaning slightly towards the fascinated 
Jim. 

“Now, you take the matter of your fire on board 
coming this way through Biscay. A royal sub¬ 
marine was pretty close. In that weather they had 
to submerge, eyes and all, to go to you. When they 
again looked, you had disappeared. We were sure 
that the sea was short a dozen good men, and that 
we had lost half a million. When our sea Intelli¬ 
gence reported you off the West Indies, with every¬ 
thing set, fancy how we felt!” 

Fortesque glanced in the direction of Princess 
Ann, then at the neat patch over the hole burned 
in the main deck. 

“Now the matter of bringing her out of stays 
as Captain Tilden did—throwing her beam on to 
drown the fire—exceedingly dangerous that was. 
In a moment he had to calculate how much strain 
she would stand. If he had miscalculated, you 
would not be here listening, and she would not be 
ready for another port. Just see how she is 
trimmed. I’ll wager she’s not out half an inch fore 
or aft.” 



THE WHIRLWIND 183 

As Jim said nothing, Fortesque went on almost 
immediately. 

‘‘Now, what a difference,” said he; “another fel¬ 
low right here in this harbor: too' much cable, and 
his ship swung with the tide onto charted rocks. 
We have to pay for her and the sea loses a good 
ship.” 

Jim was tremendously impressed by this man of 
affairs. However, even though he listened absorbed, 
he felt that Fortesque had come down there for 
something specific. 

“I am sorry the Captain is not here—” began 
Jim. 

“No, it’s all right just as it is. I know where he 
went. Would you mind taking a turn down the 
dock?” 

Jim crossed to the deck, petted the plump, rosy 
cheek of the Princess; called Sturgis, returned, and 
with Fortesque, started down the dock. 

“You see, Mr. Conroy,” Fortesque began in con¬ 
fidential but distinct undertone, “times like these, 
the rocks have ears, and dead and rotten timbers 
are patented instruments to catch even a whisper. 
Er—ah—now, Mr. Conroy, without ado, the little 
one, as I understand it, Captain Tilden, or you—* 
or both of you, want to keep?” 

“Yes—he—we—have become—” 


184 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“Aye—right, now. Of course you know this 
man Bates—so do we—especially lately. Er—ah— 
to be brief and plain, this creature is about to get 
in our way. Er—besides, he must be punished. Ah 
—you can be immensely valuable because you know 
something specific about him. Bluntly, Conroy, how 
would you like to make a pocket-liner for yourself, 
and a dot—er—ah—say another thousand pounds 
for—ah—to start the Little One?” 

“No—no, Mr. Fortesque, I will do' nothing. Cap¬ 
tain Tilden—” here words failed him. 

“No, Captain Tilden won’t do. Besides, he is 
too rigid; too' inflexible—‘Old Hickory’—I think 
you call it in the States.” 

“But am I flexible—dishonest—?” 

“No—no—wait—wait! Er—ah—I’ll admit it is 
a little complicated—you can do something for us 
—he could not if he would. You can be of great 
service—worth a lot—you actually saw, and you 
felt his hand. Captain Tilden’s knowledge is hear¬ 
say and he cannot swear to it. Conroy, you begin 
to see the light?” 

“I must be stupid—I—” 

“Er—ah—no, not stupid. As I said, it is com¬ 
plicated ; but I am doing my best to be clear. First 
I must fix Bates’ status; after that it is easy. Be¬ 
sides, there’s something else.” 

They turned about and were coming back towards 



THE WHIRLWIND 


185 


the Durland. Jim was almost too excited to fol¬ 
low him, but managed to say: 

“Yes—Bates?” 

—Bates is insane, or he is the most precious 
blackleg and scoundrel the sea has produced. 
Withal, he is rabidly anti-English—that old farcical 
1776 bloody shirt, you know. He deserted the 
Norsky tub at Callao, took the steamer and early 
to-morrow is due here. He’s got a personal grudge 
to settle with Captain Tilden and you. Be¬ 
sides—” 

“There must be more than that,” Jim interrupted, 
incredulously. 

“Ah—yes, of course there’s more—much more. 
Captain Tilden was big enough, with your help, to 
throw him out—out of his own ship. Bates owns 
a quarter interest in the Durland —now you see the 
light? Simmons owns the other three quarters. 
Simmons is straight and Bates is crooked. I don’t 
understand him—one time, half-baked; another 
time, coward, ass; hard-boiled thorough-going crim¬ 
inal. As a stupid ass he attacked you and the child; 
then astonishingly crafty, he fixed the vessel to 
sink, and got ashore. He was sure she would 
founder and we would have to pay. That he was 
murdering all on board did not stop him—a matter 
of the lives of fourteen men and the child! How 
long would the boat have lived in that weather, 


186 


THE WHIRLWIND 


and even if it floated, a part of the crew and the 
little one would have perished.” 

Fortesque seemed to be deliberately arousing the 
wrath of Jim against Bates. He continued: 

“Our proof that he fixed the rudder post, or that 
he was responsible for the fire, is none too strong, 
but his starting for the ship’s rail with the child 
was an unqualified deadly assault, a crime every¬ 
where there is a court of justice—and that he over¬ 
looked.” 

They had reached the Durland, and were going 
down the dock again, slower now. 

“I don’t yet see anything I can do.” 

Fortesque stopped suddenly, glanced at the Dur¬ 
land twice her length away; turned a complete cir¬ 
cle—even looked down through the cracks in the 
weather-worn dock, before he began again. He 
came close, facing Jim: 

“Of course you don’t. How can you until I tell 
you? This detail that takes time and wind I would 
avoid if I could make you understand that my plan 
is honest and will injure no one, and will serve jus¬ 
tice. Er—ah—now the enemy—Germany, to be 
plainer—wants the Durland’s cargo of nitrate. To 
get the cargo she is willing to take the ship also at 
a fancy figure. Now, can you see why Bates is 
coming here on the run—big business—besides 
squaring Captain Tilden and you?” 



THE WHIRLWIND 


187 


“Yes, Mr. Fortesque—but—” 

“Oh, yes, Conroy, just a moment and you will 
fully understand. My Government—the Allies— 
want the nitrate now in the Durland, and will pay 
as much as Imperial Germany for ship and cargo— 
and they must get it. Everything equal, Bates 
would throw us, and being part owner, can at least 
cause considerable delay.— Ah—you ask how I 
know? Cable from Simmons via Buenos Aires to 
Bates and a bank here. How I learn the contents 
of such cables of course need not interest you. I, 
perhaps, can make you understand now. Bates 
here, and at large, as part owner, will only lie to 
vent his spleen, and—get no more money.” For¬ 
tesque lowered his face and went on eagerly: 

“If you will swear to the facts—nothing more— 
nothing less—he, Bates, will be taken to Santiago, 
the Capital, where he will be given hearing. Then 
at a price satisfactory to Mr. Simmons, the prin¬ 
cipal owner, the Durian,d and cargo change hands 
and start quickly for St. George’s Channel instead 
of the North Sea.” 

“Then—then—” Jim hesitated; “Bates will get 
his share just the same?” 

“Oh, yes; we will do nothing to prevent that, 
but before he gets out, he must give us some as¬ 
surance that he will leave the sea.” 


CHAPTER XV 


It was all accomplished exactly as Fortesque 
planned, so quickly and quietly that even those in 
the harbor knew nothing of it. It was the orderly 
working of might with right. 

A great ocean tug arose from the sea in the night 
and gave the Durland her hawser. A mighty boost 
dead against the southeast tradewinds sent her 
back over the equator into the Canal, and then—on 
—on into the vortex of a conflagration, the equal 
of which has never been imagined. 

Captain Tilden had not forgotten a clause in his 
contract providing transportation back to New 
York in the event of sale, and wages until he got 
there. He insisted on the same terms for Jim, as 
Mate, also the entire crew, taking into considera¬ 
tion that they must wait. 

No north bound passenger ship left Valparaiso 
for two—perhaps three weeks—nothing was sure. 
Jim took the crew to a sailor’s boarding house. The 
best he could get for himself and the Captain was 
two tiny rooms—one for the man, and one, with a 
crib for Princess Ann, for himself; there was barely 

188 


THE WHIRLWIND 


189 


room to turn around. The manager of the best 
hotel there, as elsewhere, was wearing over-size 
hats and enlarged waistbands. 

Fortesque’s promise was promptly, exactly kept. 
Attached to the engraved New York Bill of Ex¬ 
change for the “Little One” was a simple statement 
that Captain Tilden was to be guided by his own 
judgment—he was to use it for the babe’s benefit as 
he saw fit. For some reason, Jim did not clearly 
understand, Fortesque did not as yet want to meet 
Captain Tilden. 

There was something unreal about the magnitude 
of the whole matter that deprived Jim of the inclina¬ 
tion or courage to tell the Captain until he was sure 
it was not a fantasy or vagary; a stage transaction; 
a three colored lithographed bill was not always 
money. Fortesque’s intimation that something was 
coming for the Captain, and that things were not 
yet completed, which was another vague reason why 
he did not tell Tilden and why he waited for some¬ 
thing to happen. 

Living in the hotel, Jim noticed that Fortesque 
avoided him because he and the Captain were al¬ 
ways together. 

“Eh, Jim, cheer up!’’ Tilden burst out at the mid¬ 
day meal, as they were sitting at a small four chair 
table in the center of the dining room. “Since we 
left the ship, you seem constantly in the act of go- 


190 


THE WHIRLWIND 


ing to or coming from a funeral. I don’t like it 
here any more than you do, but—” 

Jim smiled without looking up. 

“I don’t feel so solemn. Life in this hotel, with 
a child, is so different from our life and food 
aboard ship. It is all so unnatural. Every one 
is acting, trying to appear something they are 
not.” 

“Jim, you’re right; it might be better if we were 
in an American port with American cooking. This 
food was all right for a while, but you’re right, 
Jim; nothing measures up to our ship fare. They 
don’t or can’t make such pudding—such as you 
made when you first came. Oh, I guess we can 
stand it, but I’ll soon be willing to embrace a yel¬ 
low dog from the States. There’s not a familiar 
face, or even one I’ve ever seen before.— Yes, 
there’s one. Do you see that fellow alone at the 
side table?” 

Jim looked, though he knew to whom Tilden re¬ 
ferred. 

“He’s an Englishman; I know his face—I’m not 
sure, but I think he’s a marine insurance man— 
have a notion to ask him.” 

Jim glanced at the stranger again, and then back 
at Tilden, but made no response. The Captain’s 
curiosity was soon to be satisfied. Fortesque, who 
had evidently noticed, arose and came directly to 


THE WHIRLWIND 191 

them. He leaned forward and asked in low, dis¬ 
tinct modulation: 

“You are Captain Tilden late of the barquentine 
Durland?” 

“Yes—yes, sir; sit down.” He moved the chair 
at his left with his foot. 

Fortesque moved it a bit more, sat down, still 
holding his hat and half facing them. He seemed 
to take it for granted that Jim would understand 
what he was getting at. 

“Ah—er—you may have forgotten me—For¬ 
tesque is the name. I did not see much of you at 
the time, but you may recall that I came at the 
last moment to survey the barquentine Durland 
before you cleared Mobile?” 

“Yes—yes, I know you now. What are you do¬ 
ing in this part of the world?” 

“Ah—you can fairly expect me almost anywhere 
—that is, anywhere in the Americas. I gravitate 
from the States, adjusting marine losses—I have 
one here.” 

“I heard something about a fellow slipping too 
much cable—” 

“Oh—er—it is pitiful, Captain Tilden. He was 
ready to take cargo next day; instead he opened— 
he opened her after parts big enough for a coach 
and four. Fairly good iron clipper, fifteen hundred 
—but what else can one expect when every man who 



192 


THE WHIRLWIND 


has ever had a sextant in his hands, is given a Mas¬ 
ter’s license?” 

“Bad enough,” Tilden suggested. 

“We covered you from Bilboa,” Fortesque con¬ 
tinued; “just see the difference—fancy—this fel¬ 
low in harbor with nothing but a lively tide, sinks; 
while you had about everything that ever happens 
at sea to contend with, and come in spick and span!” 

They had risen from the table by silent consent 
and walked to the rotunda. Fortesque leaning on 
his cane, looked sharply at the Captain, but glanced 
understanding^ at Jim as they stood in a triangle. 

“Any good Captain would have—” 

“Ah—er—Captain, your modesty! No, not one 

in a thousand; putting out that fire was genius.” 

“Just a minute, Mr. Fortesque.” The Captain 
had noticed Sturgis at a distance looking much out 
of place, trying to catch his eye. He beckoned to 
him. 

Sturgis removed his hat as he approached the 
three. 

“What is it, Sturgis?” Tilden asked indulgently. 

“Why, sir, it’s this: the men all chipped in an’ 
bought the Princess a penambulator and they want 
to know—you know how it is with nothing to do— 
they want to know if she can’t come down to the 
boarding house to see ’em?” 

“Of course, Sturgis. What is it you say you 


THE WHIRLWIND 


193 


got?” he asked, with a sly glance at Fortesque. 

“Penambulator—the store man said—it’s a kind 
of a four-wheeler with basket upper works. It’s 
out there—” jerking his full fist towards the side 
entrance. 

“Oh, he means 'perambulator/ ” Fortesque ob¬ 
served, interested. 

“Jim, you go and fix ’em up. Yes, Sturgis, she’ll 
come—they’re not liquored?” 

“No, sir, not much,” Sturgis called back as Jim 
followed him out. 

“Oh—ah—this child—Princess Ann, do they call 
her?—was a sort of stowaway, wasn’t she?—Isn’t 
it astonishing what will sometimes take hold of a 
crew ?” 

“The biggest thing on the ship, Mr. Fortesque. 
Yes, smuggled aboard in a basket at Mobile. The 
next biggest is my Mate, young and not heavy, but 
a sort of God-father to the men. They’ll do any¬ 
thing for him.” 

“Ah—the little one—I suppose—” - 

“Keep her, of course. Nobody will ever get her 
from me. Come on, let’s see what he’s got out 
here. They have drawn two bonuses and have 
spent most of them on her. Why, she’s got enough 
stuff—I mean clothing and things—to last till she’s 
of age!” Tilden explained with enthusiasm as they 
traversed the hallway to the side street where Stur- 


19 4 


THE WHIRLWIND 


gis was explaining to Jim the advantages of the 
wicker freeboard in a hot climate, and how by a 
thumb nut in the rigging, the wicker awning lined 
with blue silk, could be given a list to the port or 
starboard, or dipped to the bow or stern—and that 
she steered so easy, it was only fun. He proceeded 
to demonstrate to Jim, who smilingly walked be¬ 
side the carriage down the street, not noticing the 
Captain and Fortesque in the doorway. 

“Er—ah—really ornate. The crew gave her the 
name, Princess Ann?” 

“Even before I saw her—” 

“Rather remarkable—rather,” Fortesque mut¬ 
tered as they retraced the hallway slowly. He pro¬ 
nounced the word in a drawl as though spelling it 
out. “I’m going to auction off at three this after¬ 
noon a ship called Princess Ann —the one I men¬ 
tioned as wrecked in the harbor. You might like 
to take a look at—” 

“No—no.” The Captain punctuated with his 
head and neck his negative; even with his lusty 
shoulders. “Mr. Fortesque, I left the sea twice 
to be milked dry by landsmen—skinned, pared to 
the bone.—Paid fancy prices for experience, too. 
Fve got a big warty club for any man that even 
suggests—no, no!” He repeated testily. “I know 
now the sea is the place for me!” 

Fortesque adapted his third stiff leg and while 


THE WHIRLWIND 


195 


lighting a cigarette, looked down at the Captain, in¬ 
wardly laughing. He admiringly gauged how 
bulkily secure his heart and lungs were imbedded be¬ 
hind the barrel-like chest. 

“Um—yes,”—he blew the smoke forcibly—“per¬ 
haps you didn’t get me.” 

“Of course, Mr. Fortesque,” Tilden broke in, “I 
know ships just as well as you know underwriting 
ships. If I can help you in any—” 

“Oh, splendid; glad you offer—don’t you know, I 
think you can. The sale has been advertised ex¬ 
tensively and I understand there’s a lot of bidders 
here—junk men, you know. If the bids are not 
satisfactory, as she lays in the mud, we propose 
selling out in parcels. Suppose you look her over 
and tell me what you think. The sale is at the 
Republic Auction rooms—three-thirty, to be exact; 
would you mind? Your judgment will be unbiased 
and I assure you it will be appreciated.” 

Going to and bidding at auctions is a disease, the 
same as kleptomania and poker playing. “Some¬ 
thing for nothing” is the underlying principle of all 
of them, which, of course, does not square with the 
law of use, nor golden rule, nor the Decalogue. 

Auction rooms and bidders look the same in every 
part of the world. The highly contagious “bidding 
disease” stamps brutal trickery on the face. To-day, 
the would-be bidders were mostly junk dealers who, 


196 


THE WHIRLWIND 


also the world over, add to their already disfigured 
countenances, a total disregard of the laws of per¬ 
sonal hygiene. Suspicious and distrustful, they 
loitered about. They furtively watched the big clock 
over the Auctioneer’s high desk, the hands of which 
would soon indicate three-thirty. 

When Tilden left the hotel for the wreck, Jim 
was still absent. He had taken the Princess to 
visit the men, but when he came to the auction, he 
found him waiting there. 

Fortesque had also had a short talk with Jim. 
There had not been much said. There was no 
need. The Insurance Adjuster found that he could 
convey much to the latter by mere suggestion. 

Immediately after Tilden, Fortesque came in 
hurriedly, as usual lifting his cane high, still bear¬ 
ing the invisible load on his wobbly knees. He 
nodded and smiled at them, but went directly to the 
Auctioneer who was shuffling some papers about 
on his desk that was just under the clock. After 
a short consultation with the Auctioneer, Fortesque 
beckoned to the Captain and Jim. 

“Ah—er—how did you find her, Captain?” he 
asked across the Auctioneer’s desk. 

“Of course we had too little time. Her sails and 
upper gear are in first-class condition, and it seems 
too bad to scrap that hull—cut her off stern and 
she’d make a fine barge.” 



THE WHIRLWIND 


197 


“Captain, what is her removable gear worth?” 

“Eh, sir—a lot of money just now, but not here; 
this is not in the world, man.” 

“Ah—er—Captain, considering the location on 
the map, would two hundred pounds sterling be little 
enough for her as she lays?” asked Fortesque, look¬ 
ing at Jim. 

“Eh, man; her mainsail spread would cost more 
in New York!” 

“Ah—will you bid that?” 

“Just to start her off—” chimed in the Auction¬ 
eer with a hypnotic smile. 

“As I told you, I don’t want to get mixed up with 
anything—” 

Jim, who seemed to be waiting for this moment, 
lightly laid the tips of his fingers on the long arm. 
The Captain hesitated. 

Fortesque gave the Auctioneer a significant glance, 
and the latter with the deftness and agility of an 
athlete, arose, whisked the hands of the clock around 
to three-thirty-one, resumed his seat and instantly 
began in only a conversational tone: 

“Two hundred pounds I am bid for the wrecked 
ship Princess Ann as a whole as she lays. Two 
hundred pounds—two hundred pounds sterling— 
two hundred—sold—to Captain Tilden for two 
hundred pounds sterling.—Captain, any arrange¬ 
ments you make with Mr. Fortesque about the money 



198 


THE WHIRLWIND 


will be all right.” The last he fairly flung back as 
he disappeared. 

As soon as Tilden grasped just what had hap¬ 
pened, the enormous chest filled to explode an in¬ 
dignant protest, but something in Jim’s' hand that 
again touched his elbow lightly, gently, closed the 
valve of wrath. He exhaled slowly, instead, with¬ 
out a sound. 

Fortesque watched, with elbow resting heavily on 
the Auctioneer’s desk. 

“Captain,” Jim began in a voice most convincing 
and confident, “her name is Princess Ann. Hasn’t 
Princess Ann saved you once?” 

“But, Jim, it can’t be done,” began the Captain, 
aggrieved; “I haven’t got two hundred pounds 
and can’t get it—” 

This was Fortesque’s cue: 

“Captain Tilden, ah—er—we have carried on 
your ship and cargo during your last two voyages 
two hundred thousand pounds. We feel certain 
you saved us large sums—half of it, anyhow. Ah 
—your word is all the security I want for the two 
hundred—the ship is yours. As the Mate says— 
the name is a charm. No hurry about the money; 
here is your bill.” 

A clerk handed him a bill of sale; an elaborate 
paper with a border lithographed in two colors 
about the size—of his Master’s license. Princess 


THE WHIRLWIND 


199 


Ann was all the dazed seaman could see on it. 

Jim touched him again lightly on the elbow. He 
did not fold—he rolled the evidence of his owner¬ 
ship and carried it in his hand. He and Jim left 
the place, passing out through the junk dealers who 
had yet to learn they could not buy, strip or gut the 
Princess Ann. 


CHAPTER XVI 


The platitude: '‘There is no sentiment in busi¬ 
ness,” is without the slightest foundation of truth. 
The zest, the novelty, the breath of life is in success¬ 
fully squaring sentiment with money making. Such 
is the law of use, a law of utter simplicity, yet of 
boundless power. 

As Jim led the way from the auction room, 
Captain Tilden was strangely silent. He marveled 
without misgiving at the strange influence of the boy 
now walking beside him, leading the way. He re¬ 
called that the pressure of the tips of his fingers on 
his arms had been more convincing than words. 
Loyalty with consistent selfishness gave Jim that 
subtile power. 

Down the waterfront they headed to pass the 
crew’s boarding house. Jim first broke the silence: 

“You see, Captain, you may have overlooked or 
forgotten that you have a full crew, wages paid, 
who are spoiling for something to do, and who are 
as sentimental about Princess Ann as a—a school¬ 
girl.” 

“Well, they’re pretty strong for you too, Jim.” 

200 


THE WHIRLWIND 


201 


“I’ve tried to treat ’em right, but the child is the 
strongest pull and a ship of the same name coupled 
with their secret confidence in and admiration for 
you, will hit them between the eyes. Won’t the 
cabin be away ahead of our quarters at the 
hotel ?”— 

“Wait a minute.” Jim had darted away, leaving 
Tilden thinking and inclined to grow moody. 

“See, that’s their house—most any forecastle 
will beat it for comfort,” Jim said, returning; and 
they started on again. 

“Spanish John’s locked up—too much Spanish 
wine; I’ll get him out to-morrow morning. I left 
the Princess Ann with them.” Jim laughed lightly. 
“They have her in the carriage as a throne in one 
end of the room, and are singing to her!” 

They were still on “Water Street.” Every sea¬ 
port in the world has a “Water Street”;—houses 
mere shacks; an occasional ornamental iron fence 
about a second story veranda, unpainted and 
weather worn; dirt and squalor. In hot climates, 
half clad, brown, unwashed children mingle here 
unchecked with goats, chickens, and mule carts. 

At first Captain Tilden thought it strange that 
Jim knew the shortest and the best way. He did 
not say anything about it until they got further out 
where the houses were scattered, and trees dusty 
and stunted. Lean-to kitchens, mule stables, and pig 


202 


THE WHIRLWIND 


sties, all covered with old boards, rusty, corrugated 
iron, or tin. They were relieved when they could 
see tide water. 

“The tide is now about flood,” Jim ventured. 

“Jim, you seem to know about the wreck—when 
did you see it?” 

Though Jim had been expecting the blunt ques¬ 
tion, he was no better prepared. As an outright 
liar, he was a signal failure. 

“I—I—well—this insurance man asked Sturgis 
and me to come out here and look her over—just as 
he did you—” 

“You didn't say anything about it—” 

“No-o—not then—but—but I’m perfectly will¬ 
ing to talk now—” 

Tilden’s cross between a laugh and a grunt seemed 
to come from his waistband. 

“Well, Jim, this far off she looks like a lost soul 
stuck in a swamp on the edge of creation. In this 
tide her decks appear to be awash. Her bow dips 
slightly like she was praying for deliverance.” 

“No,” responded Jim, as they rounded a fish 
house that backed into the mud flat at low tide. 
“They say her deck has never been awash.” A 
walk on stilts took them over the tide lands to deep 
water. An old man, bent from rowing a half 
century, was waiting for them. Captain Tilden sat 
down in the stern beside Jim, as one willing to let 


THE WHIRLWIND 


203 


the will and personality of the younger prevail— 
anyhow, in small matters. 

To the old man, who faced them, rowing slowly, 
he said. 

“You have lost your job?” 

“Everything has an end but life;”—the voice was 
expressionless as were the red, watery eyes. “I 
have been aboard the wreck for over half a year.” 
He spoke in broken English. “I would like to stay, 
but Gloria Munda!—a ship is no better than a man. 
Our bodies must pass. This ship is like me—her 
head is sound. In six months she took not enough 
water to drown a rat, but her stern, ah—it is fast 
in mud.” Through scattered, discolored teeth, 
came a weak laugh. “Every month the water comes 
higher,” he went on; “it is high to-day; some day it 
will wash over,” he muttered—“then we will go.” 

Everything about the ship had a new, deeper in¬ 
terest for the Captain. Was it because he now 
owned it, that her name was Princess Ann , or did 
the thought of profit vitalize his interest? Scan¬ 
ning it, they came closer. 

True clipper, built for the East India trade before 
Sir Bessemer discovered the process of making steel 
that bears his name. Her hull was of good quality 
—the quality of iron made then. The water, now 
at high tide, was scarce above her load line. There 
was nothing, even to his practiced eye, to indicate 


204 


THE WHIRLWIND 


that she was not ready to weigh anchor, slightly over¬ 
burdened aft. She had two water-tight bulkheads 
dividing her hold into three compartments. The 
after compartment crushed in, filled; thus lowered, 
struck the mud first. Likely the wind held her bow 
in deep water until fixed there by the mud and sand 
brought by a sluggish tide. 

Captain Tilden made for the forecastle the 
moment he was up the ladder. There was no 
reason why it should not be fit for the men, but he 
wanted to be sure. Back on the main deck, he 
searched aloft. Every sail looked perfect, ready to 
sail. She was built to go. Her bow, like an axe, 
tapered to the cutwater. She was built far better 
than they build at the present day. He stopped on 
the deck—such oak is seldom used now. The over¬ 
much brass trimming was encrusted in a hard green¬ 
ish coating. 

“Great Heavens!—what an economic loss!” he 
thought, starting toward the cabin. He had gone 
into the cabin when there in the morning. “A ship 
good for half a century or more—fifteen hundred 
tons—yes—lost by carelessness—and the world's 
despairing cry is for ships and more ships.” 

He paused in the galley—complete in detail, but 
much larger than necessary. The cabin was really 
a deckhouse. It extended well forward the mizzen¬ 
mast, with liberal deck space between it and the 



THE WHIRLWIND 


205 


rail.—Yes, an East Indian. Carried passengers one 
time. That explained the oversized galley, the 
Captain thought to himself. A small salon indi¬ 
cated, more than other parts of the vessel, that brass, 
mahogany, and labor had been exceedingly cheap 
when the vessel was built. He went on through the 
salon to the Captain’s and Officers’ quarters, fur¬ 
thest astern. They were so commodious that it 
seemed sheer waste of space. Carpets, rugs, beds, 
linen and charts—absolutely nothing wanting, but a 
bit of dusting and brass polish. 

He opened doors, windows and skylights to venti¬ 
late the cabin. He wondered where Jim went as he 
sat down in the big chair at the Master’s desk. 

“I understand it now—why Fortesque let it go 
so cheap—they had paid the full face of their policy 
and considered salvage nil. Valparaiso was on the 
earth, but out of the world because there were no 
ships. Why, I could scrap it to the amount of two 
hundred pounds, if sent to a fair market. Just now, 
her removable gear would bring a fortune in New 
York, but New York is fully seventy-five degrees 
north—over five thousand nautical miles distant— 
and no ships down here.” 

He looked about him—valuable salvage, yes, with¬ 
out end. If every cargo space was not practically 
commandeered for nitrate everywhere in the remote 
parts, millions awaited the arrival of just such a 



206 


THE WHIRLWIND 


ship. He happened to know that Java was bursting 
with sugar that they wanted to sell for two cents 
a pound, with New York eager to pay twenty—just 
ten times more. But cargo space—bottoms not filled 
with mud. All ships must go to war. Java sugar 
would be just as available were it on the moon. 
The same way with scrap brass, new masts, sail 
and all ship’s gear.—“Yes, Fortesque knew it had 
no value here,” the Captain said aloud to himself. 
“Of course, yes, as Jim said, the crew is paid and 
could work for two or three weeks, and well—it 
might be stored until after—No, damn the thing! 
—I wish I’d never heard of Fortesque, or any but 
the one Princess Ann! I’ll see Fortesque to-night 
and tell him it’s hopeless. It cannot be moved now— 
and when the war’s ended, it will not be worth 
moving!” 

At this moment he distinctly heard voices. He 
fairly bounced from the chair and went through 
the door opening sternward. Boats were headed 
for the wreck. Yes, Sturgis was rowing the small 
boat with full lusty strokes. Jim sat in the stern, and 
with cautious hand steadied the real Princess Ann 
in her new four-wheeled street chariot. His whole 
crew, dunnage and all, were in a long boat—four 
men at oars pulling sturdily to the chanting he had 
heard. In the rear came a ship chandler’s boat 
with provisions. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


207 


The Princess had concluded her Chilean visit 
and was now in the act of boarding “her own” ship 
with entourage complete—servants, sailors and men 
at arms. They were making a ceremony of it. 

“What confounded simpletons!” he exclaimed 
aloud. “A sailor must have something—bird, beast 
or reptile to play with,—to worship. In this case 
it was a child,—a little girl child who had made them 
her slaves.” He counted the men, and not one was 
missing. 

Jim, the rascal, quick to detect the sailors’ weak¬ 
ness, was lending himself to the melodrama. He led 
them as a kindergarten teacher does her brood; he 
did it by leading with the child. As mother animals 
are led even to their death, by the sight or cry of 
their young, so these hardened seamen followed the 
infant whom they had come to adore. 

Then Captain Tilden demonstrated that he him¬ 
self was no more than a boy at heart and a true 
sailor. He moved along the deck and planted him¬ 
self there as solid as the mainmast. He was the 
Commander who, observing his royal passenger ap¬ 
proach, would make the ship kneel to receive her 
and hers. This accomplished, he would give the 
order to man the windlass. Indeed this he would 
have really done were not his whole stern compart¬ 
ment filled with five hundred tons of water, miscel¬ 
laneous sea life, and mud, 


208 


THE WHIRLWIND 


The long boat came alongside first. The crew 
went over the side like monkeys. Then the boat 
pushed away to make room for the small boat and 
Princess Ann. 

Where they got it, no one pretended to- know. 
Larceny had been committed to further the purpose. 
A long strip of carpet was laid from the ladder to 
the entrance of the cabin. The men divided on 
either side, standing at attention, and with assumed 
solemnity awaited the Princess, who, somehow, 
came over the side sitting upright in the chariot. 
Then, as the last act, Jim, smiling indulgently, 
rolled the little carriage over the carpet between 
them to the cabin door. Then, so far as the sailors 
were concerned, it was all over. 

Every man of them jumped for his dunnage. In 
a moment more, outrigged blocks with tackle raising 
the provisions from the boat, spoke snappily. The 
crew knew their season of play was ended. 

The Captain was at his desk when Jim pushed 
the Princess through the carpeted salon into Captain 
Tilden’s own quarters, as roomy as a hotel parlor. 
He saw nothing but the advancing child; she waved 
both tiny arms, and laughed a greeting. She took 
hold of his offered forefinger—her handful. The 
soft pressure was a delight. 

The Captain arose from his chair and kissed her 
forehead. Jim, feeling sure that the kiss stamped 


THE WHIRLWIND 


209 


his approval on all that had been done, exulted. 

“Jim,” the Captain began, raising his eyes, but 
not his head—“rather a sudden change, even for a 
sailor. Er—what have you done at the hotel?” 

“Why,” Jim halted a little and looked down at 
the child; “I knew you weren’t satisfied with the 
food, and the quarters are nothing compared with 
this.” Here Jim glanced a sweeping survey. “I 
just paid up—your chest and everything will be 
aboard in a few moments—I hope you—” 

“It’s all right, Jim; better for every one just 
now. But, Jim, though this man Fortesque may 
have meant all right, he has handed us a white 
elephant. There’s any amount of salvage here, but 
with no local market and no transportation. It is 
the same—or worse—than nothing—like a swimmer 
escaping—he may take so many possessions that he 
will sink!” 

Jim stood by the wheeled chariot; he hovered 
near it as for protection—and inspiration. 

“As you know, he asked Sturgis and me to 
examine things.” Here Jim looked out the cabin 
window. The small boat had gone back and was re¬ 
turning with the dunnage. It gave him time to 
weigh what he wanted to say. “You have got to 
give Sturgis credit—” 

“Eh, Jim; I do give him credit, he is a good man— 
he will help us a lot when we know what we’re go- 


210 


THE WHIRLWIND 


mg to do. After we have dinner, I’m going ashore 
to see Fortesque. Fve got to tell him. The only 
possible way is to strip everything valuable and store 
it and wait until after the war, but I suppose it’s 
like everything else here—they'd want from us the 
value of all the land between here and Tierra del 
Fuego for storage.” 

“Don’t you think it best to see Sturgis before—” 

“Not till I see Fortesque. This is so unusual; I 
feel we are on such thin ice now. We’ll shake 
things up fast enough as soon as we know—as soon 
as I am sure.” 

“I’ll hurry dinner so you can go soon.” Jim 
seemed to know just what this trip ashore would 
accomplish. 

The Captain was so absorbed in his play with 
Princess Ann that he was only dimly conscious of 
activity in the adjoining salon, where they 
would dine. He hardly noticed Jim on the other 
side of the table, even after they sat down—it was a 
big round table. He was deciding on just what he 
would say to Fortesque; he had never been so placed 
before. He did not like to be in his or any one’s 
debt. 

He got ashore and went directly to the hotel only 
to be disappointed. They told him there that Mr. 
Fortesque had just left on the Trans-Andean train 
for Buenos Aires. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


211 


“When will he return?” repeated the clerk. “I do 
not know that he intends to return; he has checked 
out.” 

As the Captain rowed back to the wreck, he felt 
as though he was drifting without steerage. 
Finally his jaws came together with a snap. 

Jim was not surprised at his quick return, nor at 
his request that Sturgis be summoned. Neither was 
he surprised to hear him explode when Sturgis be¬ 
gan to talk. 

“Nonsense—idiotic nonsense!” Then bouncing 
out of the big chair as though a trip hammer had 
struck the seat from below, he added : “I should have 
known better and waited until you were aboard 
longer!” 

Sturgis sat on a camp stool some distance from 
the Captain, hunched forward in true forecastle 
manner, with his mild laughing blue eye and his 
stern black one both fixed on him. Jim was walking 
about expectantly hopeful. An especially good re¬ 
flector oil lamp that he had filled and cleaned, en¬ 
abled him to see both faces clearly. The Princess 
slept in her chariot in the dimmest corner. 

Sturgis grinned. 

Jim laughed.— 

“No, Captain,” the latter said; “while Sturgis 
is not a teetotaller, he’s all right now.” 

“All right, then.” Captain Tilden reared back 


212 


THE WHIRLWIND 


making his chair creak. Just as suddenly chang¬ 
ing to a tolerant skeptic, he exclaimed: “You 
both of you—go ahead and tell me just how you 
propose to float this ship!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


Incredulity is a progress-blocking, formless 
monster hatched in Hell from the egg of ignorance. 
Captain Tilden’s incredulity was of such proportions 
that Jim and Sturgis were bowled over. For the 
moment both felt that their deductions, though made 
from careful observations, were actually foolish. 

Jim was the first to recover. 

“Go ahead, Sturgis, you can’t get hung for saying 
what you think of the shipwreck,” he rather testily 
urged, though smiling infectiously at both men. 

Captain Tilden, realizing that he had perhaps ex¬ 
pressed himself too vigorously, returned Jim’s smile, 
and thus assured, Sturgis with his stern eye fixed on 
the Captain, began: 

“Of course I know you think just as I did when 
the Mate, here, mentioned it—that the insurance 
people would not pay for her as a total loss without 
knowing what they were doing. In my time I have 
known underwriters to make mistakes—maybe they 
did this time; they’re just men. Then again, they 
may know a little more about her than I do.” 

Tilden lighted his pipe, blew out the match, and 

nodded to Sturgis to go on. 

213 


214 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“When they ripped out the passenger accom¬ 
modations and made her over into straight cargo, 
they put in two water-tight bulkheads, giving her 
three compartments—forward, amidship, and aft. 
Now I tried the pumps on the forward and amid¬ 
ships, and they’re dry. Her second bottom is only 
plank and her bilge keel is high, being clipper. 
Now when the Mate, here and me came over the first 
time, the wind was right to make a low ebb, and I 
walked around her stern. More’n half of her for¬ 
ward is in clear water now. The next time we 
came, it was near flood, but water in the hold did 
not change, showing the stove-in is stopped with 
mud.” 

“Yes, Sturgis; then what?” demanded Tilden. 

“Captain, I stripped and the Mate let me down in 
the after hold, didn’t you, Mate?” 

Jim, walking up and down, nodded. 

“The water is deep, and of course we couldn’t 
get enough light, but I found this out, and know that 
the stove-in is only on the starboard. Her plates 
is exactly a fathom less four. I worked myself 
down in this mud till I was head under at least a 
half fathom several times, and I’m sure that only 
three plates deep is stove in, and the break is not 
more’n two fathoms long.” 

“How much bigger would you expect?—For- 
tesque was right about the coach and four; and her 


THE WHIRLWIND 


215 


plates, I notice, are only three-quarters soft iron,” 
said the Captain, pointing his pipe towards the car¬ 
penter. 

‘‘Mebbe the insurance people think,” continued 
Sturgis solemnly, “the break extends clear across 
to the port, and that would mean her keel was 
gone—her back broken; but I know her port plates 
aren’t touched and I believe her keel is as good as 
the day it was laid, an’ her plates being soft is the 
thing—they can be bent back.” 

“Sturgis, do you realize this is South America 
and about live thousand miles from anywhere?— 
and the only thing you can get here to repair a ship 
with is onions, or chile concarne, or red beans? 
However, we’ll suppose for a moment you’re right; 
agree that the port plates and keel are sound; that 
there is but a hole in the starboard big enough to 
take in a canal boat—what then?” 

Sturgis showed his blue eye and grinned. 

“Tie her head, pump all the water out; then take 
enough mud out so that we can work. Jack the 
plates back as best we can, then fill the hole with 
cement, letting a brace to hold it, run clear over 
to the port side.” 

“Cement—you’re insane, Sturgis—” 

“Yes, Captain—cement. Why can’t we ? They’re 
building cement ships!” The sailor was mildly in¬ 
sistent. 


216 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“They’re trying to—one filled and sank as soon 
as she left the ways—” 

“But one’s afloat too, carrying cargo, Captain. 
I went into the yard where they’re building one to 
see how they did it.” 

Captain Tilden suddenly became serious—looked 
hard at Jim, who continued to walk—and again ad¬ 
dressed Sturgis: 

“Cement—cement—yes, maybe; but there it is 
again—where the Devil are you going to get 
cement?” 

“The Mate—” Sturgis jerked his thumb toward 
Jim, who stopped where he was, and spoke: 

“Yes, Captain, I inquired a little. There is some 
Portland Cement—” 

“How much do you think you’d need, Sturgis— 
enough to fill the whole after hold with concrete? 
Then you think she’ll float—what will hold her 
bow? Sturgis, you’re—” 

“Captain, a hundred bags will do—five short tons 
and four times that much sand and gravel. Fifteen 
or twenty tons won’t throw her head up much. 
She’ll sail in ballast; I count then you can sail her 
to a respectable bone yard—this is no place for a 
Princess Ann.” Sturgis, like many men, stalled 
miserably for want of words, when he tried to ex¬ 
press sentiment. “Just give the men a chance— 
they’ll do double watches—anything. That’s better 


THE WHIRLWIND 


217 


than talking!” he finally blurted, rising to his feet. 

Captain Tilden looked over where the tiny maid, 
Princess Ann, slept. Jim came close to the car¬ 
penter, giving strength to, and endorsing his words. 

“Sturgis, how’s everything in the forecastle?” 
Captain Tilden finally asked, looking down. 

“Not a growl—that’s it—it’ll hold twice as many, 
and is better’n most cabins, and what a great gal¬ 
ley!” Sturgis, enthusiastic again, started to go. 

“Well, we’ll see—we’ll see. Set a harbor watch 
and we’ll think it over, Sturgis.” 

“Aye, aye, sir.” 

Captain Tilden knocked the ashes from his pipe 
and slowly began filling it from a leather pouch, 
the while his eyes danced and finally he turned to¬ 
wards Jim, who had taken a seat near the wheeled 
crib. 

“Jim, what do you—that is—you seem to have 
been planning all this?” 

Jim had the prudence to see that he was not be¬ 
ing consulted, and only looked at the Captain, main¬ 
taining silence. 

“It’ll—Jim—it’ll take a lot of money and—if it 
don’t work, I’m busted again and in debt besides; 
and I don’t like the way Fortesque ran off without 
—he’s only got my word for a thousand dollars. 
It smells mysterious, and you—that is—I feel as 
though I were being pushed, and—” 


218 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“Wait a minute,” Jim now interrupted; “as I see 
it, Fortesque knows he is safe. He knows that 
this crew will strip enough off this wreck to pay you 
a profit. Even though you were inclined to be dis¬ 
honest, you would have to pay or leave the sea— 
the underwriters are the power now. Besides, For¬ 
tesque is different; he is more important than he 
pretends, and knows more about our Princess Ann 
than we think.” 

The Captain’s head went back as though by the 
weight of his lower brain. He scrutinized the 
polished upper cross beams of the cabin. 

“That’s how he got Bates so easy, Captain,” con¬ 
tinued Jim. 

“Bates! That rogue—what has he to do with 
Fortesque ?” 

“Oh, a lot, Captain.” 

“He has, has he?—isn’t that strange?” 

“No—not so strange, when you consider how 
much the underwriters stood to lose by him.” Jim 
hesitated, still in doubt as to how much he should tell. 
“It was this way; Bates was about to interfere with 
Fortesque’s plans; they arrested and put him in 
prison here.” 

“How could he—or rather how did he?” 

“I’ll explain; you were right, Captain, about his 
having a pull—the remaining quarter interest in the 
Durland was owned by Bates. When the sale was 


THE WHIRLWIND 


219 


completed and the Durland gone, Chile gave him a 
ticket of leave. If he stays clear of the sea, they’ll 
let him alone. I guess he’s really gone this time— 
from these parts, anyhow.” 

“Jim, how do you know all this?” asked Tilden, 
open-eyed. 

“Because they—in order to have Bates arrested, 
I had to swear to certain things—facts only.” 

“Jim, you did this without my knowledge?” 
The Captain’s face was clouded. 

“That day you went to Santiago—Fortesque said 
it wouldn’t wait until you got back—they had to 
act quickly to take Bates before he landed.” 

The Captain sensed evasion, certainly youthful 
indiscretion. The babe moved slightly, attracting 
his attention. 

“What do you think Fortesque knows about 
Princess Ann, that he has not told?” he asked in a 
level voice. 

“You mean about the ship?” 

“The ship, and the child too.” 

“I cannot give any single definite reason for be¬ 
lieving he knows anything. I think, however, he 
wants to do something for you because—well, in a 
way—in a way he told you so—and for some 
reason he is greatly interested in the child. Just 
how or why, I don’t know. He believes you can 
do ’most anything with a ship; maybe raise this 


220 


THE WHIRLWIND 


one and sail her to where there is a good market 
for salvage, enabling you to take care of her— 
Princess Ann—without other help.” 

“Eh, nothing to that, Jim. Why didn’t Fortes- 
que himself tell me this, if it’s the case?” 

“Discretion, perhaps; it’s difficult to guess how 
his affairs are interwoven in times like these— 
how his movements are scrutinized, how he may 
not want to have an actual knowledge of some 
things.” 

“Jim, the whole thing is queer. I’m in doubt 
about it. When he wanted anything from you— 
as Master, I was the one for him to come to—but 
maybe—as you say, they had to act within an hour.” 

“That’s just it, Captain. Oh, I’ve no doubt there 
was some intrigue. They didn't cheat Bates; only 
the ship and cargo went where they wanted her— 
went to England instead of Germany, and without 
delay; but, Captain, that’s past. Bates is out of 
the way for the present, anyhow. You own this 
ship. Can you make her set on the water instead 
of in the mud?” Jim had been walking to and fro 
between the Captain and the sleeping child. He 
now stopped in front of the Captain. “If you 
can, just her mainmast will sell for more than all 
you owe Mr. Fortesque.” 

“Well, eh, Jim”—Captain Tilden removed his 


THE WHIRLWIND 


221 


pipe and looked down—“we’ll see—it won’t take 
long now. We have gone so’ far—go and get 
Sturgis and we will go into it again.” 

Before midnight, two pumps from the forward 
compartments were both unshipped and pressed into 
service in the after hold. Two men on each, worked 
with the snap and rhythm of steam-driven engines. 
At the pace they set, one hour shift was all they 
could stand. 

At daylight, flood tide, the Captain went down 
into the hold. The water had been lowered until 
planks resting on the mud carried his weight. 
Though the water in the hold was a fathom lower 
than it was outside, there was no visible inflow, 
proving that the immense jagged tear in her side had 
filled solidly with sand and mud. 

At breakfast he was inwardly elated, but his face 
was serious. He knew it was a tremendous under¬ 
taking they had planned. 

“Biggest kind of a gamble—can’t tell anything 
about seepage until we get further. We can’t lift 
mud with these pumps, and there are hundreds of 
tons of it,” he told Jim as soon as they were seated. 
“I think—I think, Jim, you had better pass the word 
that if we win, every one comes in on it. What we 
do must be done quickly and it’ll tear the life out of 
them.” 



222 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“Does money gain move every one to his utmost? 
—I know most people think it does, but I think 
every man of the crew will work harder to save the 
Princess Ann for Princess Ann.” 

“Maybe, Jim.” The Captain halted, surprised, 
looking curiously, boldly across the table. It sud¬ 
denly dawned on him that his Mate was no longer 
thin, emaciated, a shaky-voiced convalescent; his 
voice, though high-pitched, was strong; his body 
had filled, particularly from the waist up. The 
blue flannel shirt did not bag and hang loosely. 
His cheek bones were no longer prominent and his 
charcoal hair, a trifle long and bushy now, framed 
his face and made it look rather small, but did not 
conceal the breadth and height of forehead, that in 
itself, was unusual. There was something about 
the curve from the tip of his shoulders up to his 
ear, and his unusual upright sitting posture that 
suggested dignity. The Captain was conscious of 
a slight unformed wonderment, but Jim affected no 
notice of this scrutiny, and went on: 

“You see, Captain, I have studied these men. 
They are as human as any one. Perhaps by reason 
of their isolation and contact with the sea, they are 
unduly sentimental. They day-dream, are extrava¬ 
gantly romantic, and their strongest impelling force 
is not love of gain; as a matter of fact—” 

“Yes, you’re partially right, Jim; but it is pos- 


THE WHIRLWIND 


223 


sible that gain would be an added incentive—be¬ 
sides, it’s only fair.” 

Jim hesitated. 

“Well, let’s see—here’s the real Princess Ann; 
were you thinking of money when the child cast¬ 
away smiled at you from the basket?” 

“Well—hasn’t the Princess proved a valuable 
asset just considered as such?” retorted the Cap¬ 
tain. 

“Perhaps, but it was your heart and no thought 
of gain that decided in her favor at first. Were the 
men thinking in terms of gain when they, with 
wonderful patience, made soft clothing of coarse 
sailcloth, and afterwards spent their money on fine 
things for her?—No, I think it was the inborn love 
of child life.” 

“You don’t mention yourself in this at all. You 
have done more than the rest—you should take 
credit,” interrupted the Captain. 

“No, I cannot, because I deserve nothing. I did 
it and do it, to satisfy myself—self-defense. Who 
deserves anything for doing things to satisfy an in¬ 
herent longing—or for failing to do anything to 
escape the misery of a pricking conscious? These 
men have not learned to think, to reason. Of the 
impelling forces within them, they are ignorant.” 

Captain Tilden pushed back from the table, turned 
half around, and looked toward the room where the 


224 


THE WHIRLWIND 


Princess was sleeping. With the filling of his pipe 
came new thoughts: 

“Jim, Pm going ashore—you say you found where 
we can get some cement?” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


When Captain Tilden returned, the table was 
spread and the mid-day meal waiting. 

His face was flushed; he was hot in body and 
mind, though the row from wharf to wreck had 
cooled both somewhat. 

'‘Shore people are the Devil to deal with any¬ 
where!” he muttered. Just thinking of them made 
him shake his head angrily. His knowledge of 
Spanish was limited and nothing but “that lingo” 
had been talked to him here. 

As he came over the side, Jim’s face had helped 
him to recover decent poise. He had come himself 
to tell the Captain that luncheon waited. The iced 
lemonade he found at his elbow was so refreshing 
that he drank a second glass before he broke out: 

“Jim, Eve had the Devil’s own time! Cement— 
yes, plenty, but sand and gravel—nothing doing! 
Spanish gibberish— ‘No—No, Sehor’—is all I could 
get out of them. But tell me, how are things 
aboard?” 

“The water is all out, Captain, and they are dig- 
ing in the mud. I have not talked with Sturgis for 

a while; I’ll ask him to come in. Of course by this 

225 


226 


THE WHIRLWIND 


time you know Sturgis.— He is a little over-sure. 
He is imaginative, but without his imagination, 
he’d be a common sailor. He’s got the whole crew 
afire with the notion she’ll float.” 

If Sturgis had not smiled when he came in, he 
could easily have been mistaken for a grotesque¬ 
eyed automaton made out of cloth, reinforced with 
mud. 

“Sturgis, what’s the last word?” Tilden asked, 
smiling. 

“Of course you know the water’s out. We’ve dug 
down along the line of the bilge keel. You know 
they laid extra metal there to steady her in the sea¬ 
way. It’s just like I thought all the time. I went 
along with a sounding bar every half foot. The 
break stops at the bilge keel—that’s just two plates 
from the keel. I’ve got the size of the break. It 
ain’t as bad as I said. Only two plates is busted 
up and down, and not more’n six feet long—and of 
course her port side’s sound.” 

“Still, Fortesque’s coach and four was conserva¬ 
tive. As you figure it, Sturgis, the actual break is 
about seven by six feet?” 

“Yes—oh, she’s got a wallop—Davy was after 
her all right.” 

“How about seepage?” 

“Not much, Captain—can’t tell for sure yet, but 
there’s been no inflow for some time. Them fish 



THE WHIRLWIND 


227 


you’ve eaten was inside—they couldn’t get out. 
When’ll we get cement?” he asked, suddenly shift¬ 
ing his weight to the other foot and making an 
abortive hitch at his mud incased trousers. 

“Eh—Sturgis, cement? I can get cement aboard 
before night, but sand—gravel—these gringoes!” 
The Captain’s face reddened at the mere thought 
of them. 

Jim glanced at Sturgis, who then interrupted: 

“Captain, the Mate here was reading to me out 
of a book that to make a ship-shape repair job, the 
sand and gravel have got to be washed clean. There’s 
a gravel point out across the harbor and the long 
boat will float ’most a ton—” 

“But the mixture—the mixture of cement and 
sand must be right, or she’ll go like a rotten main¬ 
sail!” Tilden exclaimed. 

“The Mate and me,” Jim looked up from his 
food—“got some and it’s about like the book said— 
what was it, Mate—three gravel to One cement?” 

Jim nodded. 

“There can be no chance about that, boys,” said 
the Captain. 

“Can we get something by way of a screed 
ashore?” Jim asked, by way of a reply. 

“We’re on the back of the world, but—well, 
maybe we can get a screen. Oh, Sturgis, you’d 
better steady her by sending a line each way from 


228 


THE WHIRLWIND 


her. If by any chance she shifts, the least bit now, 
all bets will be off.” 

“Aye, sir.” 

The meal was finished in silence. The Captain 
was thinking of how impotent he would be without 
Jim, who inspired Sturgis and the crew. Winning, 
the credit was rightfully theirs. Of losing, he simply 
refused to think. He saw how Jim was coaxing 
Sturgis and the crew on, by making them think they 
were doing it. 

“That boy is the very genius of management, and 
by Heavens! a real Mate.” 

Jim, however, was thinking how necessary it was 
to have the Captain’s superior mind pass on their 
working plans. He got up, produced a fairly ac¬ 
curate plan of the after part of the ship, showing 
the break from two elevations, and as Jim explained 
the plans, and pointed with his forefinger, the finger 
came in for particular attention. 

“He would keep his hands nice, naturally—any 
one who would keep a child so neat, under whose 
care she was so rosy, fat and lusty, would, of course 
practice personal hygiene,” was the Captain’s silent 
comment. Nevertheless, the Mate had an unusually 
attractive hand. 

Jim was telling him how Sturgis was going to 
jackscrew the broken plates as best he could. He 
would introduce between layers of concrete, water' 


THE WHIRLWIND 


229 


proof sailcloth; how they would form the con¬ 
crete into a giant “I” beam that would extend the 
full width of the vessel, and engage the port side 
as a full monolithic casting.— There would be 
seepage but a pump would keep that down. 

“Jim,” Captain Tilden uttered the name solici¬ 
tously. He had taken several paces toward the 
room where the Princess lay and turned capstan-like 
to look at Jim, who remained sitting.— “Jim, have 
you thought of what will happen if we fail?—when 
we face this crew as failures ?” 

Jim sobered. He glanced down his straight nose 
as if he were using it as a sextant or transit to fix 
just where under them the crew was at the moment 
working. 

“We are not—we cannot fail!” 

“Eh, Jim; I understand; I am willing to play the 
game—a game I know something of, but this is just 
a big gamble. If it fails—well, you know we’ve got 
our transportation to the States.” 

Jim flashed the improvised sextant towards the 
Captain. 

“We—the crew, understand, and I have got—I 
have not spent my—Captain, wait; we will not fail!” 
he asserted doggedly. 

“I don’t say it to discourage, but just to temper 
or draw the temper of your enthusiasm, you know, 
Jim. I have often watched the blacksmith; after he 


230 


THE WHIRLWIND 


makes and tempers a tool, he gives it a gentle heat 
for a moment to draw some of the temper. The 
tool works better; is more reliable.'’ 

Encouraged by Jim’s eager glance, Tilden con¬ 
tinued : 

“A ship has never been repaired this way. It’s 
new, and still more, any one of the numerous perils 
of the sea described in our ‘Charter Parties’ as Acts 
of God, can defeat us.” 

“Yes, Captain, I know that we are not in dry 
dock. The weather, tides and shifting channel, the 
sunken rocks are on one side and mud flats on the 
other. At this point in the harbor we might—” 

“I’d rather be out in an open roadstead,” Captain 
Tilden interrupted. 

“I know that we have only you and your won¬ 
derful skill as a navigator between us and the ele¬ 
ments. I know this process of stopping up a big 
hole in the side of a ship is new, but, Captain, has 
it occurred to you that about everything that has 
happened since we sailed from Mobile, is new, and, 
being basically sound—I mean in conformity with 
all law as interpreted by the Great Judge, we—you 
have overcome all obstacles? Why should we ex¬ 
pect an act of God? Why should Providence now 
offer us more than hurdles? Hurdles we must al¬ 
ways take—they stand for strength. I tell you, Cap¬ 
tain,”—Jim arose and took one step towards him; 


THE WHIRLWIND 


231 


he looked out of the cabin window to the blue wav¬ 
ering line of the stupendous Andes that split the 
continent, giving Chile so little and Argentine so 
much. “I tell you, Captain,” he repeated, facing 
him squarely: “I believe that if we do our utmost— 
go to the limit and then don’t float the Princess 
Ann, it will be because we should not. I mean by 
that, a failure will be best for all concerned, in the 
end.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


During the next week though frequently con¬ 
sulted about the work, Captain Tilden spent much 
of his time with Princess Ann in his lap, or he had 
her sitting on his desk in front of him. 

When they had finished the concrete work, he 
went down in the hold to inspect for the first time. 

A concrete “I” beam four feet wide crossed the 
vessel from the uninjured port side to the hole in the 
opposite starboard side, where it held or supported 
as it were, a plug or patch that filled the break 
and well overlapped the great hole in the vessel’s 
side. A landsman would know it as a concrete 
partition four feet thick across the vessel, from the 
very bottom to the top of the break. 

“Oh, yes, of course the plates were all stove in¬ 
ward; we jackscrewed them back the best we could, 
enough anyhow to offer the best possible reinforcing 
for the patch,” Jim explained after they had re¬ 
turned to the cabin. 

Captain Tilden was in his big chair at the desk. 
Jim moved about expectantly. 

“How soon can you begin discharging the mud?” 

Tilden asked, puffing smoke lazily. 

232 


THE WHIRLWIND 


233 


“Almost any time, but won’t it be putting too 
much strain on green concrete if we do it very 
soon? Authorities say thirty days before a max¬ 
imum strain—fifteen before a moderate one, and 
but very little strain inside a week.” 

“Jim, you mean it will be unsafe to remove all 
the mud under fifteen days?” 

At this moment there was a wail from Jim’s 
room. He took the babe up, placed her in her 
chariot and wheeled her out before he replied: 

“Yes—we ought to wait a week before we begin 
throwing out the mud. In the meantime, what can 
we do to keep the men busy? They’ll get uneasy 
with nothing to do.” 

“Um, yes; that’s so,” began Captain Tilden, with 
both teeth and lips on the pipe stem. “First, you 
can overhaul the steering gear. If possible, free 
the rudder enough to make sure it was not injured 
when she went on. Shake out every cloth and see 
that they are sound—go home right.. That’s quite 
a job.” 

“Do you think she will float when the mud is all 
out?” Jim asked. 

“Only a guess, Jim, what she will do. It might 
take three or four tugs to break her loose. If the 
tide and wind combined, she might come off before 
we wanted her to, but I’m pretty sure it will take 
a pretty stiff beam strain from a tug to break the 


234 


THE WHIRLWIND 


suction of the mud. I mean, of course, the atmos¬ 
pheric pressure. That reminds me—I must have a 
chart of this harbor.” 

“Where—that is—for what port will we clear, 
Captain?” Jim asked, facing him with something 
of a twinkle. 

“Jim, your assurance is stronger than a bottle of 
rum.” The Captain pulled at his pipe, regarding 
him curiously. He recalled that he had never seen 
him smoking anything, or taking a drink. “If we 
get off and are able to sail after we do—there’s only 
one port for us—San Francisco. Tolls through the 
canal would kill us—and going around the Horn in 
a cripple is out of the question.” 

“How much would the canal tolls be, Captain?” 

“Something more than a dollar a ton, and she 
registers over fifteen hundred.” 

“Wouldn’t she be worth that much more on the 
Atlantic side—in New York, for instance?” 

“Maybe—but what’s the use if we can’t pay the 
toll? If we can provision decently for ’Frisco, we 
will be lucky.” He did not seem to hear what Jim 
said, before he went out,—that he thought they 
would have an unusually low tide and it might be a 
good time right now to try freeing the rudder. 

The Captain soberly realized that all the interest 
he had manifested thus far in the enterprise was 
only a reflection projected mainly by Jim. Not- 


THE WHIRLWIND 


235 


withstanding the fact that everything had been de¬ 
veloped as planned, in his heart he still felt no con¬ 
fidence. He blamed himself as the weaker, when he 
had allowed the personality of Fortesque to domi¬ 
nate and thrust the ship on him. He did not blame 
Jim—he had only responded to the same influence. 
He felt he was being carried along by some strange, 
secret power, and though the small voice within 
him said “No,” he did not, could not, resist. Who 
was it now?— Was it this boy, Jim, or was it the 
child ? 

He had not thought of a port because he did 
not believe they would sail anywhere. It was true, 
possibilities had been forced upon him by this same 
influence. From a sort of dream stuff, he knew 
that if the ship could be properly salvaged, he would 
have more money than he had ever again expected 
to possess. That she might ever carry cargo!— 
He dismissed the thought as a nebulous fantasy. 

His pipe went out, but he continued holding it 
with his hand resting on the desk, lost to the world 
in the struggle with himself. When the Princess, 
while cooing away, threw her nursing bottle down 
on the desk, he still steadily gazed ahead. He knew 
that to be delivered from friends and the well in- 
tentioned, one must at times pray. On the other 
hand, whoever had only a square deal up his sleeve 
was never downed long. 


236 


THE WHIRLWIND 


He heard the men working about the helm. He 
knew by the voices of Jim and Sturgis that he would 
be told that the steering gear was uninjured. This 
seemed to fix in his mind the impression that he 
was somehow being groomed for a herculean ef¬ 
fort. His eyes and arms traveled to the playful, 
powerful mite of innocence. 

If he had the definite knowledge that a crisis was 
near, it would have reduced his power to meet it. 
But he did not know why he started ashore at once 
to get a chart of the harbor. The tide was so low 
that it left a long stretch of mud between the chan¬ 
nel and the fish house, the usual landing. For that 
reason he had the man row down the channel until 
they were abreast the city. 

When he left the wreck, the men were still work¬ 
ing about the stern. There was no water in the 
opening then made and the tide was still on the 
ebb. 

A sailor rowed him slowly down the channel. He 
amused himself by noting the points now exposed 
where an enterprising government properly appre¬ 
ciative of ocean commerce, would erect beacons and 
buoys. As it was, even a native tugboat Captain 
could easily get into trouble. He turned and looked 
back at the Princess Ann. Oozy fiats on one side 
and rocks on the other—there wasn’t much choice. 
How she had drifted into such a position without 


THE WHIRLWIND 


237 


encountering some of the many obstructions, was 
a mystery—a sea vagary. The harbor was like a 
mill pond. It was so hot he could work up little 
interest in anything. 

A ship chandler finally got the chart for him. As 
he was being rowed back he spread it open on his 
knees to see how well the surveyors had done their 
work. He had found mistakes and bad ones in 
other charts. This was an 1877 survey, almost too 
old for present use. He silently castigated the 
Chilean Government for indifference to the only 
commerce that might give it life, that gave it a place 
on the map. 

“Not so bad after all,” was the result of his 
scrutiny, causing the sailor rowing him to look at 
him curiously. “Here’s a light buoy on a sand bar.” 
Though not yet sundown, the light was burning. 
Beyond he could see a channel spar buoy. Searching 
beyond that again for harbor marks, his eye riveted 
as though he faced a specter—a phantom :—a full- 
rigged ship bearing down upon them and towards 
the city. Every sail from sky sail to main was set, 
but how could that be in this dead, weather-breed¬ 
ing calm? Then the Captain smiled, but the smile 
instantly froze on his face, seriousness—melan¬ 
choly, even, taking its place. The old East Indian 
Princess Ann, pride of her builders, she of a thou¬ 
sand weathered storms, stood proudly erect between 


238 


THE WHIRLWIND 


him and the setting sun, a grand old dame, though 
fatally stricken, in full regalia, summoning her last 
iota of strength to stand erect. 

After all, sentiment rules the world. Perhaps 
for the first time, Tilden was seized with a real 
desire to snatch her from the grave and stand her 
before the world—a monument to himself?— No, 
to Jim and to the crew! The figures he now saw 
aloft furling sail should not strip her of her trap¬ 
pings and leave her bones to bleach. Silhouetted 
against the warm golden glow of the late sun, every¬ 
thing from her royals high to her graceful clipper 
line, moved him deeply. 

For the first time his heart beat with Jim’s, Stur¬ 
gis’ and the crew’s. He lost the impression that he 
was being gently coerced, pressed into a distasteful 
task for dollars. He knew now it was because he 
loved the little Princess Ann, and the ship Princess 
Ann, beautiful too, as he now saw her. She must 
carry the little one back to her own country. From 
the smouldering fire of repressed desires, the flames 
broke out and warmed his being. He was so deeply 
moved that in his heart he silently thanked his 
Maker for life, health, and the power to be use¬ 
ful. 

As he mounted the ladder and made for the cabin, 
his body and step were once more sturdy and elastic. 

“The man who exclaimed: ‘Know thyself!’ was 


THE WHIRLWIND 


239 


a stupid ass!” he exclaimed half aloud. “Better 
acknowledge how little you will ever know of your¬ 
self—or any one, or anything, and be governed by 
fundamentals.” 

As he expected, as soon as they were seated for 
the evening meal, Jim told him that the very low 
tide had enabled them to dig and free the rudder. 
They had found it uninjured and they had over¬ 
hauled its gear. Tilden was silent, but keenly in¬ 
terested. 

Every sail had been set. They were of unusual 
quality, and free from patches. In overhauling the 
extras or spares, they found several new, unusually 
heavy storm mainsails. Thinking it trivial, Jim 
did not tell the Captain of something else that later 
proved immensely important. 

How the saying “Curiosity killed a cat" became 
current, is hard to understand, as felines are sel¬ 
dom curious, but many other animals are, through 
this characteristic, led to the hunter’s bag. Curi¬ 
osity sent “Peeping Tom” to jail, and has landed 
eavesdroppers and many others into trouble. Jim 
and Sturgis were among the others. 

After getting through with the steering gear, the 
very low tide suggested to both Jim and Sturgis 
the possibility of digging down to see how the patch 
in the hull looked on the outside. By banking the 
mud, forming a ditch, and using the pump on small 


240 


THE WHIRLWIND 


seepage, in a short time they had it exposed to clear 
view. When some rough places were chipped of! 
and some depressions filled, they were delighted. 

“Now if we let clear water into this ditch against 
the concrete, we’ll soon know whether our work’s 
all for nothing!” declared Sturgis. 

Jim nodded. With one stroke of the shovel he 
broke the dyke around the side of, the vessel and 
let the water in against the patch. Had either of 
them been schooled in hydraulics, they would have 
at least consulted Captain Tilden, who' somehow 
sensitized to approaching crisis, felt one now im¬ 
pending. Jim did not understand why the Captain 
was so reserved and little inclined to talk. Tilden 
himself did not understand it, nor why that night he 
left the deck earlier than usual to turn in. 

Before doing so, he looked at the barometer— 
perhaps through mere force of habit. It indicated 
violent change. If the ship had not been solidly 
imbedded in the mud for six months, thorough and 
cautious preparation against accident was called 
for. Far away, but seemingly rising astern, were 
heavy clouds, and the then deathly still humid atmos¬ 
phere explained the falling mercury. This por¬ 
tended more than the usual thunder storm of the 
region, the Captain felt. Coming towards them 
directly astern, was a yeasty mountain of blue black 
that from within, here and there expelled a light, 


THE WHIRLWIND 


241 


swiftly moving vapor, all rendered infernally lurid 
by jagged strips of arching electricity that appeared 
to reply to a vicious attack of a mighty enemy hid¬ 
den elsewhere in the universe. 

“Plenty of fresh water in about an hour,” was 
the Captain’s muttered exclamation. But that did 
not explain his mental depression that evening, 
which had appeared to Jim as a sort of a grouch. 

“It’s the weather, I guess,” the Captain said to 
himself, reflecting his own mood. “This storm will 
clear one atmosphere and I’ll escape the other by 
going to sleep,”—but this was not to be. 

In less than an hour he was shocked from pro¬ 
found sleep into instant wakefulness. The cause was 
so slight that a landsman would not have noticed it 
at all, but to him it was as the voice of thunder, the 
impact of express trains moving head on. Though 
instantly alert in mind, his body waited inert for 
the second evidence of the crisis. It was perhaps 
the great crisis of his life, and so far, of Jim’s 
also. 

When he felt it again he exhibited most astonish¬ 
ing activity. Like the beetle which without legs, 
amazes one by its power of locomotion, he bounded 
from the bed, appearing on deck in his sleeping 
clothes and began shouting orders. The ship had 
moved in its bed of mud! The tide at full flood and 
the terrific gale full astern preceding a downpour, 


242 


THE WHIRLWIND 


was the cause. An instant’s delay might be fatal. 
Once loose, she would swing on her chains to rocks 
on one side, or into enveloping soft mud on the 
other. In either case, the Princess Ann would be 
a complete wreck and all their work on her would 
be wasted. 

His first order for all hands on deck, though ap¬ 
parently unhurried, galvanized every hand and leg 
on board into instant action. Even though the wind 
was carrying heavy spray upon the stern and whined 
shrilly at the resistance of shroud and stay, the 
command would have been heard twice the length 
of the vessel without losing power. Every one of 
the infinite gradations of the human voice disap¬ 
peared from his except an irresistible power to elec¬ 
trify men into action and to multiply their speed and 
strength. There was no hesitation. The problem 
had been solved subconsciously. He knew he was 
doing the only thing to be done. 

As he expected, Jim was first to come up. He 
asked him to take the wheel. Then there was 
thundered towards the forecastle an order to slip 
the cable of the starboard anchor and man the 
capstan and hove in the port anchor. All other 
hands aloft to make sail. 

All that could be heard above the storm was the 
great metal dog of the capstan clanking in the 
ratchet with twice the usual speed and the sailors 


THE WHIRLWIND 


243 


aloft cursing because they did not have four hands 
—two to hold on with, and two with which to 
work. 

They did not know why they were straining every 
muscle to the utmost. All they knew, all they 
wanted to know, was that the Captain himself was 
on deck giving orders. The lightning blinded them 
and the thunder claps of the utmost frequency and 
intensity made it seem that the granite Andes tow¬ 
ering miles above them, had given way, and that 
the Continent had parted so that ocean might greet 
ocean nearer than Cape Horn. 

The Captain felt sure that, as the ship had broken 
the sucking hold of the mud, the moment the de¬ 
taining port anchor was clear, the mainsails now 
bellying tight as fiddle strings, would make the 
Princess Ann rise, bounding with life, from what 
was to have been her deathbed. When she did slip 
off with a grinding noise, she answered the helm 
instantly, gloriously. “Free—free!”—her shout¬ 
ing was heard above the storm, even to the stars. 

Captain Tilden thanked God for the frequent 
flashes of vivid lightning which enabled him to trace 
the outlines of the city above and the thin spar 
buoys of the channel, and some of the marks he 
had little more than casually noted on the chart. 

Before him was the herculean task of taking a 
fifteen hundred ton sailing ship through a tortuous 


244 


THE WHIRLWIND 


way affording scarcely room enough to maneuver 
a yacht. Without foot or head covering, clad only 
in his two-piece sleeping garment, back and forth 
before the wheel he walked, nor did he feel the 
pouring torrents. He wanted to be sure about the 
tide—had it turned? The storm was rushing them 
along now. If his whole life yielded but the per¬ 
formance of this one magnificent feat of navigation, 
it would be enough. 

Jim at the wheel seemed to anticipate his orders. 
So complete was the domination of the Captain’s 
will over him at the moment that it controlled his 
body without need of utterance. Though he heard 
them, the verbal orders were scarcely necessary. 
They both wondered if their cement patchwork was 
sufficiently seasoned to stand the strain. Would 
this fierce strain upon the mizzen top cause it to 
spring enough—crack it? If so—well, anxiety now 
would not help. 

They were racing toward the open water and 
were approaching the light buoy which the Captain 
had noted as marking an abrupt change in their 
course. Jim somehow knew he would get an order 
to “Starboard the helm—hard over,” and that it 
must go “hard” on the instant, unless something 
parted. 

The Captain was standing well over to starboard 
and rooted to the deck even as one of the great 


THE WHIRLWIND 


245 


masts, watching the light buoy which was dim and 
at times obscured by the heavy downpour, wind- 
lashed into dense mist. During a flash of lightning 
he gave Jim a warning look. 

He was not excited. The men jumped to obey 
the order that came with the shifting helm and 
were so stirred they heeded not their already blis¬ 
tered hands. They would have obeyed if it stripped 
the flesh bare to the bone. 

The Captain appeared even stoical when they 
cleared the light buoy by only half their beam and 
then successfully squared away into the open har¬ 
bor. He did not get excited until after he had 
performed the impossible and they were anchored 
in the roadstead; then he was ready to throw the 
cook overboard because the latter, overcome at their 
good luck, had spilled a whole pot of food on the 
galley stove. 

Soon, however, he relaxed and even though they 
told him she was taking water through the cement 
patching, he went back to bed and to sleep. 


CHAPTER XX 


Whether it was a sort of daze from mighty 
effort, indifference to plaudits, or confidence in Jim, 
even Tilden himself could not tell; anyhow he re¬ 
mained in his room until Jim rapped on his door 
shortly after daylight. He was promptly bidden to 
enter. 

Captain Tilden did not turn over; instead he 
turned his head on its ball-and-socket joint, his 
bright inquiring face gazing at Jim, who stood just 
inside the door with his hand on the knob. 

“Captain Tilden, the water we were taking last 
night was through an old deadlight opened while 
working on the after compartment break. When 
under way it came awash. The concrete repair worlf 
is intact and does not leak.” 

“None?” 

“Not a drop!” Jim answered. “A tug and pilot 
has signaled us thinking we are just arriving in 
port.” 

“Where’s the wind?” the Captain inquired ex- 
ultingly. 

“Off shore, fresh southwest—instrument fair. 

246 


THE WHIRLWIND 


247 


The crew has been throwing the mud overboard all 
night; it’s pretty well out now.” 

“How are we provisioned?” 

“Good for about a week.” 

“Jim, after breakfast we’ll make sail. I will 
put her through for a day. If she don’t open or 
show too bad, we’ll clear for the top of the world 
—some place on the map, Jim!” 

Jim had just left him and returned to the deck 
when a launch came alongside. Recognizing one 
of the shipping agents to whom the Durland was 
consigned, Jim lowered a ladder. 

When that shipping agent left, Jim went in to 
breakfast thinking hard. Captain Tilden was ex¬ 
amining a coast chart in the middle of which sat 
the tiny Princess Ann—still more than ever, the 
biggest thing on the ship. Perhaps for that reason 
she occupied their attention at breakfast; besides, 
there was really nothing to plan until they were 
sure the old East Indian would not show a leak 
through the immense concrete patch in her side, 
when under strain of sail. 

When they returned that night to the same an¬ 
chorage, she had been “put through.” Again and 
again the Captain had tried every expedient known 
to the astute Ship Master to develop weakness in 
hull and gear. 

The Captain who had been silent all day, broke 


248 


THE WHIRLWIND 


out in high spirits when they were finally seated at 
dinner. 

“Jim, how much water are you taking aft now ?” 

Jim’s answer was a smile that both puzzled and 
pleased. 

“Not a bit as far as we can tell. The men not 
needed to work the ship have been trying to re¬ 
move mud, but could not do much. Sturgis says 
that when you did not have her on beam’s end, you 
had her by the heels headed for Davy Jones.” 

“Eh, boy—it’s over five thousand miles to ’Frisco 
■—too far to sail in a coffin—but she’s speedy and 
safe enough if your patch doesn’t fall out or turn 
sieve.” 

“Our patch holds now—it’ll get stronger for fif¬ 
teen days. It’s comparatively soft now, and not 
budging to-day, it’ll never move, even with cargo.” 

“I’ll go ashore early to-morrow and clear for 
’Frisco. We can call at Callao for provisions—” 

“Captain, wouldn’t she sail better with some bal¬ 
last forward?” 

“Eh—yes—but why pay for ballast?” 

“Why not try to get some freight?” 

“Jim, I believe you are a lineal descendant of 
Midas. You would have everything turn to gold— 
but you know what happened ? He finally got ass’s 
ears. Would you rob the sea of its dead and then 
put the corpse to work?” 


THE WHIRLWIND 


249 


“Why couldn’t we take enough freight in the two 
forward holds to steady her—and—and pay ex¬ 
penses?” Jim steadily persisted. 

“There you go. I believe your ears have already 
begun to grow. Who would give us freight without 
insurance—and what company would be imbecile 
enough to insure—?” 

Jim laughed. He had somehow learned that was 
the safest way to interrupt Tilden. 

“I am doubtful about insurance, though I’m told 
Mr. Fortesque is expected back; he’s interested in 
a way and may suggest something. The mud will 
be all out by to-morrow morning and everything 
washed out. I am told cargo space all along this 
coast is so scarce, shippers will take the risk them¬ 
selves.” 

“More power to you, Jim.” 

“We are at least a month from San Francisco. 
The crew’s wages are on you, now; and provi- 

• yy 

sions— 

“I know—it’s big.” 

“Crew and all have been, and are working because 
of Princess Ann—and if they will give us freight 
without insurance, why shouldn’t we take it?” 

“All right, you try it. I’ll give you a day to 
shake it out, and bear this in mind: this war is go¬ 
ing to be over some time and when it is, sailing 
craft and everything belonging to it, will be worth 


250 


THE WHIRLWIND 


as much as a nice assortment of snow shovels at the 
Equator!” 

“You mean the Princess Ann —we must change 
this vessel for a steamer?” Jim asked the Captain 
with elevated brows as they both left the table. 

“Dreamstuff, Jim.” 

“Dreams—that is, the right kind of dreams— 
can come true ‘if we hustle while we wait/ ” 

Jim started to hustle that very day. He went 
ashore that night and soon had rival shipping agents 
making bids for their cargo space with and without 
insurance. 

Mr. Fortesque had returned from Buenos Aires. 
He promised Jim to see him the next morning. It 
was early when he came aboard. He looked about 
as one appraising a man pronounced dead by com¬ 
petent authority, but who had arisen, walked away 
and laughed at the undertaker. He applied rule and 
tape line to the concrete patch. 

“Ah—er—I say, Captain—I think this is very 
clever,” he began, when the survey was finally com¬ 
pleted and Jim had brought him to the Captain, 
who at the moment of their entrance was tickling 
Princess Ann’s toes. Tilden sobered instantly. For¬ 
tesque was the one man he wanted badly to see— 
he owed him the equivalent of two hundred pounds 
sterling. His survey was important—Jim knew 
that, of course. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


251 


“Ah—er—the little Princess Ann seems to be 
well,” Fortesque continued, absently taking a chair 
and staring at the child. 

“Biggest thing on the high seas, Mr. Fortesque,” 
said the Captain—the child was trying to span his 
thumb. 

“Er—ah—Captain, I should say—I do say, you 
have done remarkable habilitating—” 

“Not me—Eve only looked on, and a doubting 
Thomas at that, too. The Mate, here, and the 
crew—” 

“Ah—liberal, I should say—big of you, but we 
logically ask who is responsible for the morale of 
the crew?” 

“As a matter of fact I have done nothing except 
yesterday, when I did my best to open her up,” in¬ 
sisted Captain Tilden testily. 

“Ah—I daresay getting her out into deep water 
was a contributing factor?” 

“Oh, well—yes, but I believe the real force was 
this third of a hundredweight—” 

“She helped, I daresay. No, Captain, you can’t 
escape credit,” interrupted the underwriter, looking 
full at Jim who had assumed a waiting attitude 
back of the Captain’s chair; “but I must tell you 
that I frown on the proposal of the ship brokers 
here to give you a full cargo of nitrate for the other 
side, though it appears unusually profitable—a gold 



252 


THE WHIRLWIND 


mine apparently.— The fact is, that you should not 
—no, wait—Til put it this way: I don’t want you 
to go into the zone at all.” Still looking at Jim, he 
continued: “Yes, I know the Durland's owner had 
a rare chance. I—I may be permitted to tell you 
she was lost—went down—with all hands too. 
Now, if you will allow me—that is, I feel bound to 
suggest that you pick up all odd freight here for 
up coast. There’s a few hundred tons, I am told, 
for Callao and nearer.” 

The Captain was about to explode the informa¬ 
tion that he had not been offered a cargo of nitrate, 
when he looked at Jim. 

“At Callao I happen to know you can get a cargo 
of sugar for Delaware Breakwater, or New York. 
Now if you do this, I can—I will manage it that 
both hull and cargo are covered up coast and for 
transit through the canal, with cargo from Callao. 
You see, American coasting insurance is easier than 
deep sea.” 

“Well then,”—here the Captain moved enough to 
see Jim over his shoulder—“as I understand it, you 
are willing to take her coasting, but won’t insure 
her for deep water?” 

“Ah—er—I wouldn’t put it that way—if—if she 
once carries cargo coastwise—” 

“Eh, Mr. Fortesque, I’m glad you’ll take her 
coastwise; as you say, after she stands cargo strain 


THE WHIRLWIND 


253 


—but I have done enough yesterday to open the 
best of ’em.” 

“Ah—I know—I know the big money for cross¬ 
ing appeals. There's been a change—they won’t 
buy now as they did the Durland, to get the cargo, 
and you must take your chance. To demonstrate— 
assuming you got across with such a cargo, it will 
be seized, requisitioned—they call it—but it’s about 
the same. As yet they have established no regular 
way of paying for cargoes so taken. Perhaps, in 
fact, I know they will pay eventually, but only after 
long delays—delicate questions for the State De¬ 
partment. You—you would be there in a bottom of 
British registry as an American owner; and I as¬ 
sume your first officer, here”—looking full at Jim 
—“is still without license. You can’t afford—” 

Fortesque then contemplated the Captain and 
finally the child. He usually referred to her as the 
“Little One.” 

“No,” he went on triumphantly, “I feel bound to 
suggest—urge so strongly that the big figures will 
make no impression. Take cargo to a north States 
port from Callao and sell the vessel for junk, if need 
be. Til gamble just now they’ll snap her up to 
carry cargo. Anything that floats. There’ll be a 
slump in shipping—a big one, with the last gun— 
get from under. I’m making it strong so you will 
not rise to the other lure.” 


254 


THE WHIRLWIND 


Jim proved a good listener, while the Captain 
seemed fascinated by the isolated, upstanding wisp 
of hair in front, and the unusually prominent nose 
of the talker. Though profoundly impressed, he 
finally found his voice as they arose: 

“Mr. Fortesque, you must be right—you have 
inside information—besides, you are interested. For 
my part I’m glad you think I can get to a decent 
boneyard and be sure to pay you.” 

“Er—Captain—that matter can wait. My itin¬ 
erary soon takes me north—hope to see you—ship, 
crew and cargo there—the States I mean.” Hat in 
hand, he started for the deck watching the Captain 
tuck the Princess under his arm—then glance an 
invitation for jim to follow. 

“What a wonderful view of the Andes you have 
from here—such magnificent shades of blue and 
gray. The villages far up there look no more than 
white dots in the stupendous picture that reaches 
from horizon to horizon. The man, Bates,—your 
former Mate, Captain—most mischievous person— 
is keeping his promise to stay clear of the sea and 
the underwriters are glad.” 

“Bates is a bad egg,” assented Captain Tilden. 

“But at about the end of his tether,” Fortesque 
remarked, moving toward the ladder to where his 
launch waited. “Ah—er—Captain, perhaps I should 
mention—a shipbuilding concern—friends, or at 


THE WHIRLWIND 


255 


least people with whom we have pleasant relations, 
laid a keel—something like twenty thousand dead¬ 
weight—asked me to suggest a name. I was at that 
moment adjusting a loss on a big steamer that 
sank off New York Harbor—the Princess Ann. 
They have christened the new one Princess Ann, 
and—er—will soon be ready. I took the liberty of 
suggesting, in fact urging, that they try to get you 
to take her as Master—you may hear from them.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Fortesque, for the trouble—” 

“No trouble—ah—er, a pleasure,” he drawled, 
while briskly shaking hands and making his de¬ 
parture. 

When he was a cable’s length away he turned 
about and waved a parting salute. 

The Captain carried the Princess into the cabin. 
Jim called to Sturgis: 

“Hoist a signal for a tug to take us to the wharf.” 
Their policy and destination were settled and that 
was about all that the Captain seemed interested 
in, except the child. 

Jim did the leg work. He arranged for the 
freight, named the rate, gave receipts and generally 
superintended things while Sturgis managed it at 
the ship’s side, and stowed it. 

It was the same when they, though one-third 
short-handed, arrived at Callao in about a fortnight. 
Jim was mostly responsible for Tilden assuming the 


256 


THE WHIRLWIND 


attitude of an expert navigator whose vitality and 
energy was to be conserved for that purpose only, 
who in no case was to be harried with details. Jim 
collected the freight, gave the receipts for, and 
turned the money over to him for the strong box 
into which he placed it, making no pretense of keep¬ 
ing a record. He expected Jim to do that. 

They had just discharged the partial cargo and 
were anchored well out in the harbor when Captain 
Tilden was astonished and amused to learn of a 
wrangle between Jim and the shipping agents. As 
Fortesque predicted, a full cargo of raw sugar was 
promptly offered. The Captain cautiously refused 
to listen to details when they came to him; he sent 
them back to Jim. He knew something of the 
wily Peruvian Customs House Broker. His con¬ 
fidence in the boy had grown until it now amounted 
to deep affection, and he realized that he would side 
with him whatever position he took. He waited 
until meal time to ask him about it, little thinking 
it would be their first controversy. 

“Eh—Jim, you’re spoiling it—they will unite 
and agree not to give us cargo at all under such 
circumstances. Your conditions are so unusual— 
never heard of it in shipping.” 

“Captain, it is new, perhaps unheard of, but as I 
once said about all the things happening now over 


THE WHIRLWIND 


257 


the world, are entirely new. These fellows are 
sharp, cunning traders. Two banks are in it and 
they are presuming on our ignorance of the sugar 
market, but I have learned that the price of sugar 
has advanced enormously. On the dock here, with 
no ships to carry it, it is worth two or three cents 
per pound, but in New York or London—seventeen 
or eighteen. We are the only bottom in sight. 
They’ve got to submit to our terms and pay freight 
in advance!” 

“Eh—boy, you are a corkscrew for getting at in¬ 
formation.” 

“Have you considered the heavy canal tolls?” 
Jim countered. 

“Haven’t we got enough to pay them?” 

“Yes, but what about the crew when we arrive? 
They will have about two months’ wages due when 
we anchor. They have been true blue and must 
have it then—not after we collect the freight. These 
people talk of the Delaware Breakwater now, but 
insist on thirty days, with demurrage to divert to 
any other American port—it is the rankest sort of 
speculation. The cargo may be sold a half a dozen 
times before we arrive. No, Captain, it’s money 
down as soon as the hatches close. You see if any¬ 
thing happens, they have the insurance to fall back 
on, but where would we be with this crew waiting 


258 


THE WHIRLWIND 


for wages until insurance is adjusted?—Or suppose 
the war would end and the market break, this sugar 
might not be worth our freight—” 

“Eh, Jim, you’re right. What rate have you 
made them? They have been whining to me about 
the rate; I didn’t say much about it because I didn’t 
know what you were asking.” 

“Well, Captain, I’ll tell you.” Here Jim hesi¬ 
tated a moment, then went to his room and brought 
out the Princess Ann, who blinked in the sudden 
light. He put her in the chariot and pulled it along¬ 
side between them, straightening the tiny growth 
of hair a bit, as he often did, with the tips of his 
fingers, the while smiling at the babe. 

“Now about the rate,” he began, resuming his 
seat and scanning the Captain’s face, “I’ll admit 
jockeying some for position; I had to, to meet those 
speculating rogues. I first named one hundred and 
twenty-five dollars, but finally settled back at a hun¬ 
dred, and that’s where I stick.” 

“I—I—Jim, I don’t quite understand; what do 
you mean by a hundred?” 

“Captain, I mean five cents a pound—a hundred 
dollars in gold for each short ton we burden for 
New York or an equivalent port,” bluntly, deci¬ 
sively, Jim replied. 

“Jim !—you mean fifteen hundred tons at one hun¬ 
dred dollars per ton?” 


THE WHIRLWIND 


259 


“Eighteen hundred short tons—Sturgis says,” 
Jim corrected as if to further aggravate the Cap¬ 
tain’s brainstorm. 

Captain Tilden laid down his knife and fork, 
wiped his mouth vigorously with the napkin and 
shoved back from the unfinished food. His neck 
seemed to settle between his shoulders; then like 
a bird of prey, his head turned, pointing the eagle¬ 
like nose towards the window. He decided to wait 
a bit; to be forceful he must not be heated. To 
gain control of his wrath, he must momentarily 
think of something else. 

The tide setting north through the treacherous 
channel Boqueron between the whaleback shoals 
and the Island of San Lorenzo, brought the ship 
up on a taut cable so that he could see the entire 
island. His eyes traveled from the lighthouse on 
the northland cape to a white wall that enclosed a 
road to a small factory up on the side, near which 
was a house—a faded blue in the distance. Further 
on was a yellow one, but the mid-day summer sun 
only twelve degrees from the equator, seemed to 
have consumed everything green on the island ex¬ 
cept a strip near the beach, indicated by a greenish 
tint only. 

The Captain was astonished to find his mind could 
be diverted by the white-washed fishing huts further 
on, which appeared like scattered giant seabirds’ 


260 


THE WHIRLWIND 


eggs at the foot of an extinct crater that mounted 
a thousand feet into the azure of the cloudless sky. 

Off the water he could not find existence livable. 
His head, marionette-like, came back far enough 
to see Jim, who was apparently unperturbed—gaz¬ 
ing out of the port window of the salon. He could 
see the great floating dock and the Customs House 
thereon, where he knew eighteen hundred tons of 
choice raw sugar had recently been moved for them. 
He could see the veritable graveyard for ships to 
the southward of the mouth of the Rimac River. 
He could see the point some five miles away, where 
the capital city, Lima, had with a grimace, squeezed 
itself in between the towering Cristobel and Barto- 
lomae mountain peaks. 

It was the child’s voice that broke the silence, 
and as usual, saved the situation. She had ap¬ 
parently decided to clean house, and began by throw¬ 
ing a varied colored globe, a rubber doll and a rat¬ 
tle off her lap with much jumping, crooning and 
waving. 

The Captain felt he now had a firm hold on him¬ 
self. Releasing his arms, he hitched his chair back 
towards the table. 

“I tell you, Jim, the principle’s wrong—no good 
can come of it. The gold will turn into a rotten 
stone in our hands; will be a Nemesis that will pur¬ 
sue us to the end of the earth. Ten dollars a ton 


THE WHIRLWIND 


261 


is enough; I have taken lots of sugar out of this 
harbor for five—and was glad to get it!” 

“Captain,” began Jim, somewhat softened, 
“you can recall leaving the matter of getting a bur¬ 
den to me. I—I think I understand—I see your 
point. I likely have erred in not giving you more 
details. Now this is no ordinary case of the planter- 
producer sending his sugar to market through a 
Customs House broker to get the market price. 
It has grown far beyond that—to what is even an 
enormous transaction for the banks here who are 
engineering it.— 

“The planter has got his little dot—perhaps one 
and a half cents a pound—for his sugar, and has 
returned to the valley to eat pig meat, chila tortias, 
and wonder if he will ever get out of debt. The 
ultimate consumer is, as usual, going to pay,” con¬ 
tinued Jim, speaking slowly and looking fully at the 
Captain across the table. “We cannot help him if 
we carry it to New York, freight free; he is now 
between the speculative millstones to be ground 
fine; the bank speculators are in the saddle and are 
riding rough. The question is, how much of the 
speculator’s margin are we going to demand for 
furnishing the basic necessity for profit of any sort? 
—I think a third—one hundred a ton—is a fair 
and equitable price for us!” 

Captain Tilden shook his head slowly. 


262 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“Too much, Jim—they’ll make trouble somehow. 
Why, this ship when she was new didn’t cost a 
hundred dollars per ton deadweight!’’ 

The Captain’s tremendous personality was tell¬ 
ing on the youth. He had met his first onslaught 
but he now began to weaken with the reaction. His 
reply had a fagged, even a sad note, but contained 
nothing of concession. 

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with 
it. Do you suppose Mr. Fortesque did not know 
the conditions when he said: ‘Go to Callao?’— He 
is the one man whose fingers are on the pulse of the 
world, and who means much more than he says. 
Do you think he intended you to pass up a chance 
he has put in your way, because of a scruple based 
on tradition?—Captain, your generosity, bravery 
and probity—and I might say, bigness—are won¬ 
derful, but you are amiss in a certain perception of 
the main chance. Can’t you see?” continued Jim in 
a lowered tone—“that Mr. Fortesque is somehow 
interested in this child, and perhaps for her, is 
showing you good things—throwing things your 
way?” he added. 

Captain Tilden arose and walked to the port win¬ 
dow. His eyes traveled over the waters of the 
harbor past the wreck of the floating dock, over the 
fort and up the river valley that disappears between 
the mountains where the tropical verdure becomes 


THE WHIRLWIND 


263 


an entrancing blue warmed with green tints, where 
his vision was then plunged into the abysmal azure 
vault beyond. 

He started for his room but stopped when oppo¬ 
site the chariot and child and voiced his thought: 

“He’s not throwing things in my way, Jim—it’s 
in our way!” 


CHAPTER XXI 


After they berthed at the Customs House dock, 
Captain Tilden watched three-hundred-pound bags 
of raw sugar bear the load line of the old 
East Indian down—more than ten thousand of 
them. He observed everything closely but not as 
something that he was vitally interested in for him¬ 
self ; more and more it grew on him that he was 
doing this for others—the Princess, Jim, and the 
crew. He now was the Navigator freed from an¬ 
noying, distracting business details. 

Frequent short torrential showers slowed up the 
work. After them came the sun, scorching hot. 
Sugar, sifting from the bags, became molasses. 
Sticky and malodorous as a black strap tanker was 
the ship until she was loaded and washed down and 
shifted again into the stream. 

The Captain was troubled at times with misgiv¬ 
ings and doubt and would then even resent the in¬ 
fluence of the child on his life and movements. 
He felt deprived of a certain prized liberty of ac¬ 
tion and thought. Of course Jim came in for a 
share of this mental flogging. As accomplice, acces¬ 
sory, the boy seemed lately to take pleasure in push- 

264 


THE WHIRLWIND 


265 


ing or pulling him into distasteful situations. That 
he could not, or at least did not, resist Jim with any 
vigor, was to him astonishingly depressing. 

But after such rebellious moments it would come 
back to him, each time with added force, that only 
a few months ago it hr ‘ required a friend’s—Cap¬ 
tain Blount’s—encoura ment to dissipate self-pity 
and keep him out of Lie sea’s permanent discard. 
He could trace his new manhood directly to the 
influence of the child and j'm. He had grown to 
think of them as in some w y belonging to him. 

He was alternately hot and cold while the loading 
went on; this feeling lasted even after it was fin¬ 
ished and Jim had collected the freight in advance, 
just as he had said he would. And such a lot of 
money—more gold than he and Jim could carry at 
one time. It was finally carted to the Express Of¬ 
fice after its disposition had been discussed. 

“Captain, do you think it best to bring it aboard?” 
Jim asked, after such a plan was announced. 

“Eh, why not, Jim? If the ship goes down, 
maybe we won’t need it. Can’t it go with us in the 
boats if we do abandon the ship?” Smiling in¬ 
credulously he continued, chaffingly: “Maybe our 
strong box that’s big enough for a bank won’t hold 
it?” 

“Well, it’s considerable weight,” Jim smiled. 
“Both you and I together cannot carry it easily. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


2 66 

If you shipped it by express to New York, retaining 
enough for tolls, provisions and the crew, wouldn’t 
you feel easier if difficulties arose?” 

“But, Jim, why should we expect difficulties?” 

They were at the noonday meal. Captain Tilden 
looked across at the boy wondering why of late an 
unwillingness to agree with him, seemed to be an 
obsession. In spite of the fact that it was unbear¬ 
ably warm, the boy sat there neat and upright with 
a certain undefinable poise. The light as it fell on 
his thick, inky hair, at that moment suggested a 
portrait of a clear-cut, wistful, enigmatic face, 
framed by the mahogany paneling of the salon be¬ 
hind him. The picture had a strange allure. 

But this continued unaccountable and unreason¬ 
able opposition on the Captain’s part had made 
Jim most cautious, even as to the manner in which 
he voiced the slightest suggestion. 

“Why, Captain, I was thinking only of the or¬ 
dinary perils of the sea that make insurance on 
the best ships necessary.” 

“Urn—yes, maybe you’re right—but who—” 

“Ship it yourself, care of some one. You have 
often spoken of Captain Blount. Write a letter to 
him to go with it, telling him what you want done 
if anything should happen.” 

“A good idea, Jim; now I can see—a good idea. 
I’ll write the letter now, then you can go ashore 


THE WHIRLWIND 


267 


and express it. We are cleared now ready to cast 
off as soon as your return.’’ 

Even after he began to write, he stopped to won¬ 
der why he resented a suggestion that now appeared 
plainly as ordinary prudence; a necessity to protect 
Jim’s interest and the crew’s—he was now only 
custodian, trustee, as it were, for them. He was 
becoming dependent; too much so. Then it oc¬ 
curred to him that this letter was in the nature of 
a testament; in fact, it was a will disposing of a 
lot of money—for all he possessed when he had 
left Mobile had been debts. He knew that Cap¬ 
tain Blount, retired sea captain, would regard both 
the letter and spirit of his request, if for any reason 
he did not return, as a sacred trust. 

It took him some time to write the letter. He 
provided for the crew’s interest first; then for 
James Conroy, and the child, Princess Ann. He 
smiled as this was the first time his feeling toward 
them had to be concretely expressed. He was him¬ 
self surprised at the form it took when he put it 
down. Somehow instead of the feeling of depres¬ 
sion he had of late, he was relieved—even exhila¬ 
rated. 

“Here is the letter, King Midas.’’ 

“All right, ‘Old Plickory,’ ” laughed Jim over his 
shoulder, hurrying away. 

Without knowing it, Captain Tilden relied much 


268 


THE WHIRLWIND 


on premonitions which were in most part' reliable, 
but he had said to himself many times that Satans 
could under certain circumstances, insinuate them¬ 
selves between him and his soul’s guardians for 
brief periods. At these moments he was not wholly 
sane. Except at such times, Jim and the child 
filled his world. Intuitively he knew of the decep¬ 
tion that Jim had been asked by Mr. Fortesque to 
practice upon him for a brief time, and which 
prevented Jim from freely discussing the theory of 
how Fortesque came to be so much interested in little 
Princess Ann. 

During the Captain’s periodic depressions he 
would think of Bates. He had been told that Bates 
had been cashiered off the sea, but he knew the sea 
had much coast upon which he could play the devil. 
It was possible that they would cross each other’s 
paths again. 

Jim had not changed; he perhaps worked harder. 
They were working a fully laden ship with exactly 
two-thirds as many men as the Englishman re¬ 
garded a full crew, and were getting speed. Being 
short-handed, either Captain Tilden or Jim had to 
be on deck. They now seldom ate together and 
met only when relieving each other. 

Some fifteen days from Callao they had crossed 
the Equator and were in the southeast trades sailing 
a direct course for the Canal. With little warning, 


THE WHIRLWIND 


269 


a thought struck Captain Tilden and bowled him 
over as a ship borne down by a hurricane on the 
full quarter. Jim was on watch. He had eaten 
alone and was then sitting at the desk waiting for 
mid-day when he would go up on deck and relieve 
the Mate. Rummaging for some trifle he happened 
upon the express receipt. Tilden knew nothing of 
why his thumb and forefinger tightened as a vise 
upon the piece of heavy paper. His vision bore 
down on it as the staccato of hailstones which in 
that latitude fell on the deck as though dashed from 
a bucket out of clear sunlight. 

The large, plainly written figures on the paper 
that meant so many dollars in gold delivered and 
awaiting his order in New York, at first seemed 
fictitious. No, they were real; Jim had told him 
so; besides, a small portion of the metal was in the 
strong box for tolls and the men’s wages. 

Bates seemed able to appear at his elbow filling 
him with vile suspicion. While he could point to 
no overt act on the part of Jim, the receipt for the 
gold filled him with distrust. In fact, Jim’s record 
and conduct was so faultless and efficient that he 
now seemed unreal—mysterious. So much gold 
seemed ample evidence of something wrong. The 
damned stuff would turn to ashes as he had pre¬ 
dicted. 

“If there is nothing wrong with Jim, he is not 


270 


THE WHIRLWIND 


human!” he muttered, but continued as reason as¬ 
serted itself: “Whatever mystery surrounds him, 
he has earned my loyalty; self-interest may have 
prompted the suggestion of the letter disposing of 
the gold in the event of serious casualty—but ap¬ 
parently he had no interest in its division—and it 
would have been easy for him to have stipulated 
for his share at the time.” 

Having thus concluded, Tilden lunged from his 
chair as though he would dismember the silent 
specter of Bates or whatever spirit had prompted 
the suspicions he had been momentarily fostering. 
His bronzed face still showed the flush of shame 
when he went to relieve Jim, who greeted him as 
usual. 

“Captain, you look as though you aren’t rested. 
I have just worked out our position; if I’m right, 
we’ve made a good run. Will you verify my cal¬ 
culations?” Jim asked, offering him the sextant. 

“Away with it, Jim!” The Captain seemed re¬ 
lieved at finding voice. “It’s effort wasted; you 
are as good a navigator now as I am.” Then he 
went to the chariot and kissed the wide-awake Prin¬ 
cess on the cheek. 

“I hope so, Captain. I’ll need to be pretty good 
to stand the grilling I’ve got ahead of me to get my 
license.” 

“Eh, boy, don’t lose any sleep over it. If you 


THE WHIRLWIND 


271 


had the length of sea service, I think you could 
pass for Master now. I’m going to talk to Blount 
when we get back to New York—maybe he can get 
them to waive—” 

“We are a long way from there now. After 
we’re through the Canal, as I understand it, beating 
out of the Caribbean and up the Atlantic is rather 
stiff this time of year?” 

“Not so bad, Jim. We hit the Gulf Stream off 
Cuba; that alone gives over three knots headway.” 

Of course he could not know then that they would 
not go up the Atlantic, or any coast, with this ship, 
Princess Ann. 

To the whole crew, Captain Tilden and the Mate 
were only the medium through which the real Mas¬ 
ter of the vessel worked. She it was who charmed 
the “trades” to reach south for them; banished the 
doldrums and sent them bowling across the latitudes 
where sailing ships, as vegetation deprived of water, 
often lay for lifeless days—the Princess Ann, in¬ 
fant sorceress, beneficent mascot for the ship Prin¬ 
cess Ann, sugar laden for New York. 

They had barely gotten into the first Miraflores 
Lock when the message together with some mail, 
was delivered. It was then late in the evening and 
they had been promised complete canal transit dur¬ 
ing the night. There Sturgis could take charge, 
relieving both Captain Tilden and Jim, It was the 


272 


THE WHIRLWIND 


first time that the Captain and the Mate had dined 
together since leaving Callao. 

The little Princess was in full evening dress, suit¬ 
able for ten degrees north of the Equator, swing 
seated alongside the table. 

“Eh, Jim; we’re playing lucky; it’s just as you 
said; they have been playing battledore and shuttle¬ 
cock with our cargo and it’s finally lodged in New 
Orleans. Jim, eight or ten days saved by going into 
the big brook.” 

“Winter weather on the Gulf yet?” Jim casually 
asked. 

“Oh, yes, but no more teeth than Hatteras.” 

“But, Captain, our charter plainly calls for Dela¬ 
ware Breakwater or equivalent port. I recall it as 
I wrote it. New Orleans is not an equivalent— 
won’t there be difficulties?” 

“Yes, but none that cannot be arranged with the 
Peruvian Consul. Jim, you don’t seem to warm 
up. I thought you originated in the South and—” 

“Yes, I do—in one way Pm glad,” Jim replied, 
but listlessly. “However, you seem to forget that 
you have a ship for sale and that New York is the 
place to sell it.” 

“It’s just as you say—New Orleans is not an 
equivalent. Towage, bar and river pilotage both 
ways; over a hundred miles from the Gulf to New 
Orleans—they must agree to pay. If they do, we’ll 


THE WHIRLWIND 


273 


be compelled to go there. If they don't, we’ll show 
up according to the writing at the Breakwater and 
ask their pleasure. In six hours if they don’t wire 
the guarantee, we’ll break for the Gulf Stream and 
steer so far to the eastward that Cape Hatteras won’t 
know we’re around.” 

Jim looked at the Princess and continued eating. 
Again the Captain voiced his thoughts: 

'‘Jim, isn’t it strange that we’ve had no sickness? 
We’re leaving the Equator for cool weather with 
every man Jack eating regular meals and isn’t 
it wonderful how the Princess has grown? She 
is as plump as a minnow and got three teeth with 
more coming.” 

Captain Tilden laid down his fork as if that were 
a necessary preliminary to surveying the pink vel¬ 
vety torso of the child bared from the waist, her 
plump, chubby legs emerging from the snowy white 
waistband. 

"Jim, I was thinking the other day when we were 
loading at Callao that our cultured ladies borrow 
from the female torrid zone aborigines the custom 
of dressing principally the pelvic region, but deny us 
men the breech cloth of the male of the same zone. 

I don’t think that we men get a square deal in hot 
weather, do you?” Captain Tilden waited as if for 
comment, but as Jim said nothing, he persisted: 
"Jim, what I mean is that hotel dining rooms may be 


274 


THE WHIRLWIND 


filled with ladies exposed down to the waist where 
a gasket starts shoulderwise to support a bit of 
gauze—yet a man's suspenders start a gasp of 
horror!” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” began Jim coldly. “It’s 
wholly a matter of appeal; each sex tries equally 
hard,” he continued, glancing at the Captain. “A 
purposed viewed broadly is laudable enough.” 

“Then you think it’s putting the best foot forward 
and not utility that causes them to copy more and 
more the hip covering of their forest sisters?” 

“Why couldn’t it be both?” Then quickly: “How 
long is it from here to New Orleans?” 

“Twelve—fifteen days, with average weather.” 

“And New York?” 

“About ten degrees further east—the same north; 
perhaps a week or ten days longer.” The Captain 
pushed away from the table and produced his pipe. 

“Jim, I don’t recall seeing you smoke—don’t you 
like it?” 

Jim darted a glance at the now complacent Cap¬ 
tain who was looking out at the Lock. 

“No; I tried to, but it didn’t take.” 

“Jim, Fortesque must travel by airship. He is 
back in the States, and writes me from there. It 
seems he’s not through yet with Bates. He wants 
a general statement from me and one from Sturgis 


THE WHIRLWIND 


275 


about the incident on the first voyage in the Dur- 
land when Bates attacked you while shaving.” 

“Yes?” Jim’s voice was dejected. “I’m almost 
inclined to wish Bates in Hell!” said he savagely. 


CHAPTER XXII 


The full rigged ship Princess Ann, sugar laden, 
Callao to Delaware Breakwater, was not out of the 
Gatun Lock the next morning, when Tilden, her 
Master, received by wireless a confirmation of the 
change in destination and a satisfactory guarantee 
for the additional cost of taking a sailing ship to the 
port of New Orleans. 

To almost any other Captain, and any other crew, 
the “Double reef’ weather encountered as they 
left the Caribbean and entered the Gulf, would have 
been the cause of sober thought. As it was, the 
crew laughed and jested in rollicking holiday spirits 
when they obeyed the order to prepare the boats. 
They knew all about the ship and believed, as they 
put it, that the weakest spot was the patch, and that 
she was stronger now than the day she was launched, 
after being repaired. 

They smiled and nodded approbation of the “Old 
Man’s nerve” when the royal, ordered out too 
soon, went to shreds; was replaced at once, and 
a little later the skysail broke over it and stayed. 
In fact, everything that aided speed, stayed. It 

was this skysail that the lookout on the pilot tower 

276 


THE WHIRLWIND 


277 


at the foot of the south pass of the Mississippi first 
saw. Ihen a tug that had been waiting under full 
head forty-eight hours with a bar pilot aboard, 
rushed out past the famous Eads Jettys and plunged 
into the enormous seas then rushing in from the 
Gulf to the River’s mouth, discolored and defiled by 
the vari-colored silt and soil washings gathered by 
this water course in its majestic sweep down from 
the Great Lake regions. 

The Dry Tortugas Station had reported a ship re¬ 
sembling the Princess Ann passing there. Her 
sugar cargo being badly wanted, the tug was sent 
to wait for them all alert. It was not until the 
tug’s hawser was made fast, and the Bar Pilot in 
command of the vessel, that Captain Tilden realized 
of a certainty that there was something wrong with 
Jim. 

The racking strain of bringing a fully laden sail¬ 
ing ship, one-third short-handed, from Colon to the 
mouth of the Mississippi in ten days, was his first 
explanation of the boy’s trouble. 

Tilden came into the salon and found Jim sitting 
in his chair at the table reading the daily paper that 
the Bar Pilot, T. A. Wilson, had brought aboard— 
the first American paper of recent date that they had 
seen for some four months. 

“Eh, Jim, you must need rest, you look so done 
up. Better eat dinner and go to bed. The Pilot 



278 


THE WHIRLWIND 


tells me he is doubtful about reaching quarantine 
before sundown. That means we must anchor 
until sunrise to-morrow, for the quarantine Doc¬ 
tors.” 

“Doctors—quarantine—why—why, what do we 
have to do with quarantine?” Jim asked, his voice 
weak. 

“Clearing from a foreign port calls for quarantine 
inspection, Jim,” the Captain replied. 

The tug and pilot had jockied the big ship into 
just the right position to clear the end of the jetty 
by a few feet, breasting the treacherous current 
there exactly right to avoid being thrust onto the 
graveyard immediately across the narrowed mouth 
of the river. This brought the reddish late after¬ 
noon sun athwartship through the salon window so 
that it fell on Jim’s face. He sat leaning back in 
the armchair, with his legs extended under the table, 
the paper in both hands. The rear profile view of 
his First Mate frightened Tilden. 

His charcoal hair was lusterless, long and un¬ 
combed. His eyes sunken and dull. The rays of 
the sun as it fell directly on his face for a few 
moments, made his skin appear sallow, lacking care 
and nourishment. 

The Captain was conscious-stricken. Jim tossed 
the paper away, and went forward. Soon, in ner¬ 
vous haste he returned to the chair and “Daily.” 


THE WHIRLWIND 


279 


“The last two weeks have been stiff; he has done 
too much, ’ thought Tilden. He then suddenly re¬ 
called how in telling his story, Jim had plainly 
warned him that he was making important reser¬ 
vations. He now wondered if this had anything 
to do with his Mate’s mood. 

The Captain, who stood in the entrance of the 
cabin, here turned to watch the ship which was ap¬ 
proaching the end of the jetty so nearly head on, 
that her long jibboom all but fouled a short flag 
staff there. The tug, knowing it had reached the 
crucial point, lunged ahead drawing the three inch 
tow line taut as a catgut. The ship, though barely 
moving, was still head on to the jetty. Even 
Captain Tilden, old dog of the sea, held his breath, 
glancing sharply at the Bar Pilot Wilson, whose at¬ 
titude was anxious but reassuring. . 

Then the outrushing current mysteriously moved 
the ship over to the port but a few feet; enough, 
however, for her thin cutter bow to edge past the 
pile-supported rock-built jetty. The Pilot glanced 
knowingly, but instantly became serious, when the 
ship stood still. The tug struggled and the big rope 
hawser got so tight that it shed drops of water its 
whole length. Finally, as though tired and ex¬ 
hausted from its fierce struggle, the current released 
its hold on the ship and she plunged forward, past 
the jetty’s end, into the mouth of America’s greatest 


280 


THE WHIRLWIND 


river. The Princess Ann, Captain Tilden, Master 
and Owner, was not only over the bar, but safe 
now in inland waters. 

The Captain looked his relief at the Pilot, then 
quickly passed back into the salon. The ship had 
shifted the sun away from Jim’s face; he looked 
better now, which was further relief for Tilden. 

The food for the evening meal was being put on 
the table. The Captain saw Jim listlessly go to his 
room and then return. 

“Why did you ask about quarantine, Jim—we’re 
all well?” 

“I just asked Sturgis; he says every one will eat 
nails with Pills-and-Sawbones looking on.” Then 
he continued: “Captain, did you know that this 
paper the Pilot brought aboard is yesterday’s issue ?’* 

“What about it?” 

“It has a two column front page story on the 
sugar situation in what they call the southern dis¬ 
trict. No white sugar at all, apparently, and very 
little brown. The brown retails at thirty cents.” 
Jim hesitated still looking at the paper; finally he 
glanced at Tilden, now sitting gloomily with chin 
cupped in palm. 

“Well, Jim—how are we interested?” 

“You are interested if you want to be fair. You 
can see now that five cents per pound is not exces¬ 
sive to bring three cent sugar to a thirty cent retail 


THE WHIRLWIND 281 

market, where it’s so scarce that they send a tug to 
hurry us up to relieve the famine!” 

“Um—yes—” the Captain was still dubious. 

“They traced you, this story says, from Callao 
through the canal. You were reported passing the 
Dry Tortugas Station, and also, that a tug—the one 
that has hold of us now—has been waiting two days 
for us.” 

“I don’t quite see yet—” Captain Tilden stopped, 
wondering at Jim’s aloof manner, but still more at 
the fact that now he was using “your” and “you” 
so repeatedly, whereas before it had always been 
“we” and “our.” 

“No—you have not had time to think, but you 
should. I have been thinking ever since we were 
diverted to New Orleans. This front page publicity 
that you can’t buy with money, is important. 
You’ve got a ship to sell, as Fortesque advised. I 
believe it is just as important to me—” 

Princess Ann, awakened by their voices, inter¬ 
rupted him. 

“Eh, Jim; you need sleep and rest. Every one 
is well. There’s been no death on board—we’re 
going to have no funeral.” 

“Yes, Captain, I know that,” the young Mate re¬ 
plied, bringing the child alongside, “but that must 
not keep me from anticipating what’s going to hap¬ 
pen to me. To apply the rule of three—I have two 


282 


THE WHIRLWIND 


known quantities from which I must calculate the 
third—the unknown. The unknown quantity is— 
What is Bates trying to do?” 

“Eh—Bates ?—Bates ?—damn him!—but what 
can he do—why he—” 

“Captain, why try to throw dust in my eyes? 
Bates is active or Mr. Fortesque would not have 
asked for more information. The Gulf is Bates’ 
native ground. He hates us, bears malice, and will 
surely seek revenge. His mind is small, active, and 
certainly cunning.” 

Neither man ate much. The big chested Captain 
sat upright looking sorrowfully at the boy who had 
made for himself such a place in the Captain’s 
heart. He took his food slowly, mechanically, with 
no zest. 

“Jim,” he began, glancing up sharply, “Bates 
should consider himself fortunate if he is not thrown 
into jail and tried for his crimes!” 

“Captain Tilden, we know, the crew knows, and 
the insurance people know what Bates has done, but 
can we prove it?—Knowing something, and con¬ 
vincing a jury of it, are two different things.” 

“Jim, I still ask—what do you think he can do?— 
The Captain was gazing out of the windows west¬ 
ward where the alluvial deposits of the great river 
had finally made a bank, which had become firm 
enough to support the weight of grazing cattle. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


283 


The ship seemed to be moving across a meadow with 
a few scattering stunted trees along their way. 

Jim, more composed, though little interested in his 
food, looked over the child’s carriage out of the 
salon window to the east, where tide creeks worked 
torturously through the marsh grass. Nothing in¬ 
tercepted his vision except the now cloudless, pul¬ 
sating, stupendous semi-globular cap fitted upon the 
earth by the eye and called “horizon.” His glance 
had grown soft when it returned to the Captain, 
and his tone was less distant when he replied: 

“Bates can come very close to making a case 
against me. I can’t get away from the fact that I 
assaulted him with a deadly weapon, and as a fact, 
I did strike to kill him. Then when the poor mis¬ 
erable devil came to Valparaiso to look after his 
legitimate interests, I do the needful thing to throw 
him into prison.” 

“Prison?—what for—who for?” 

“Who for?—what for? You may have forgot^ 
ten the details but I’ll bring them back,” calmly said 
the Mate. “I did it for Mr. Fortesque; what for, 
is not all clear to me now. One thing I do know— 
it has brought me back to New Orleans—a place 
I had hoped to avoid, a place I adopted, but which 
never adopted me. But I’m back here and must 
fight it out. It must be so intended.” 

“Jim, I suppose you refer to—” 


THE WHIRLWIND 


281 

“That I am a fugitive even if Bates does noth¬ 
ing.” 

“What of that, Jim?—the city of New Orleans 
will be glad to know that you are well now; that 
will end it. Anyhow, you are not friendless nor 
moneyless now. Fortesque’s inquiry about Bates 
does mean something.” 

“Captain Tilden, in the one talk about myself, I 
intended to make it clear—quite to the point of 
warning you—that I made reservations. Even with 
this notice you may think I practiced unwarranted 
deception. If so, I must bear that along with the 
rest. I gave myself to the sea—the wonderful, the 
marvelous, occupying two-thirds of the earth—the 
sea that could take me and lodge me anywhere, a 
million places other than New Orleans;—that I have 
learned to love so much that I could live on it or 
die in it, content. But the sea may know what is 
best—it has brought me back, better, stronger, but 
nevertheless—to battle.” 

The Captain, during this speech, did not look at 
the young Mate, but out of the window at the scat¬ 
tering cypress trees that lined the levee just there 
with their gnarled, irregular shapes festooned heavily 
with a rootless, partly parasitic and partly influvia 
supported moss. Then he interrupted: 

“Jim, I don’t care what you have done—I don’t 


THE WHIRLWIND 


285 


care what you have been; it is only what you are now 
that counts with me.” 

Jim, with an audible intake of breath, replied: 

“The fact still remains that you, all of us, hesi¬ 
tate long before we swallow a shock to our concep¬ 
tion of conventions.” 

“Jim, my boy, your speech is lost time and effort. 
Such talk is morbid. Both of us must be decently 
tolerant. Don’t we meet on a common ground?— 
Isn’t the child enough—” 

“Yes, Captain, the child is enough.” 

“Captain Tilden,” called the Pilot Wilson into 
the salon, “we can make the head of the pass and the 
Quarantine Station about thirty minutes before sun¬ 
down. If you have everything ready, they can 
come aboard and ‘pass’ you right now, going half 
speed.” 

A signal went to the masthead for a Quarantine 
Officer. The tug sent it several miles ahead of them 
by three long blasts. When abreast the station, the 
doctors came aboard and satisfied themselves that 
the Princess Ann was in the best of health, and re¬ 
leased her for up river entry into the United States 
without a full halt. 

Jim and the Captain did not resume their con¬ 
versation, though each of them had, at a later time, 
reason to recall its smallest detail—not only every 


286 


THE WHIRLWIND 


word that was uttered, but its every inflection and 
intonation. 

Early the next morning they were docked in New 
Orleans. It meant thousands to the then owners of 
the sugar, to have it for instant distribution. Cap¬ 
tain Tilden went to the Customs House to make 
entry the moment it opened. 

Details delayed him, and it was after nine before 
he got his order to begin discharging. 

After seeing the hatches lifted, he was through. 
Longshoremen moved the sugar and as it paid more 
than a cent per pound duty, the United States tally 
men did the rest. 

Tilden left Sturgis in charge and went into the 
cabin, to find that Jim, together with the child and 
their principal belongings, was gone. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


Captain Tilden afterwards confessed that as 
soon as he knew of a certainty that his Mate had 
left the ship in his absence and that the child had 
gone too, he went into the cabin and funked. Arms 
on the desk for a head rest, he miserably gave way 
to the abandonment of self pity. 

The considerable bundle of mail given him at the? 
Customs House he threw down on the desk urn 
opened. He complained bitterly that his lot on this 
earth was exceptionally hard—in fact the hardest 
of all mankind. 

The first separate and detached idea that came to 
him after this violent outburst was about the money. 
Pie violently censured Jim as one who loved money 
for its own sake. He recalled telling him it would 
turn to ashes in their hands. He would go to New 
York and give back the cursed stuff to the sea! 

With this resolution came a shock, a concussion 
within, like the violent clanging of a dray load of 
tempered steel falling a great distance. Time 
passed; he came into a different, better light. It 
was as if some one duly authorized had with right¬ 
eous inordinate power kicked him from behind and 

287 


288 


THE WHIRLWIND 


bid him stand up and be a man instead of a puling 
infant. As a clarion call in the dead of night, it 
came to him that with health and strength, he must 
in this world perform a man’s work. Talents given 
him must be accounted for. 

Sturgis, rapping, brought the great chest vertical, 
and the now bloodshot eyes turned towards the door 
as he bade him enter. 

“Captain, the revenue clerks are tallying every¬ 
thing; some more of the men want to go ashore.” 

“All right, Sturgis; all you can spare can go.” 

“And some money too?” 

“Yes, send them in; I’ll fix them up.” 

His mouth shut decisively and with grinding 
teeth he crucified the last cowardly thrust of self- 
pity. Turning to the strong box brought another 
threatening pang—fear—ogre-eyed fear direct from 
the nether regions. This was something Jim at¬ 
tended to; on the very top was a pay sheet. The 
men had signed, receipting for money they drew be¬ 
fore going ashore. On the bottom line was his 
own scarcely dry signature “James Conroy,” op¬ 
posite which was the sum he had paid himself. 

When the men had gone, the smile forced for 
them left the Captain’s face and it became as India 
rubber cast in somber mold. His attempt to joke 
with them was like beating on an ash heap tin pan 
instead of a good snare drum. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


289 


“This does beat Hell!" he thought; “and it’s all 
based on Jim’s going away with the child while I 
was away. I wonder if this is really a warning— 
intuitive advance information of impending evil?— 
or has some devil for the time being, broken down 
my guard and with satanic glee distorted my sense 
of proportion?—or is it indigestion?” 

He took up the unopened mail. The first letter 
was a bulky one from Captain Blount; he would read 
that when he had plenty of time. The next, on 
insurance stationery, was from Fortesque. He 
glanced towards Jim’s room. Had he heard the 
slightest sound as coming from Princess Ann, he 
would have covered the distance with a single 
bound. 

With phonetic brevity, Fortesque told him he 
knew of his changed destination. He was sending 
a man to buy the ship. 

“Watch Bates!” he wrote; “he is potential 
trouble, actively resentful and insanely lacking in 
perception of his own enormities. Immediately you 
arrive and get this, call me at the Monteleone Hotel.” 

Nothing else could be as important. Hurrying to 
a telephone, Tilden thought bitterly of Bates as the 
author of his present trouble. 

“Mr. Fortesque went out,” the clerk told him. 
“Pie left a message for you that he would come 
aboard your vessel just as soon as he disposes of 


290 


THE WHIRLWIND 


the matter requiring his immediate attention,” and 
the clerk hung up the receiver. 

When he left the telephone, instead of going 
directly back to the ship, he walked towards the 
Old French Market that paralleled the docks for a 
distance. Food, oceans of food, the most tempting 
varieties, was exposed, as it had been for two cen¬ 
turies. Just then Tilden felt that he never would 
require or relish food again. Most of his thoughts 
were occupied in blaming Jim for leaving in his 
absence, which of course, had made it necessary for 
him to take the Princess with him.—Well, of course 
he would not stay long, or he would have left some 
word, even though he had taken both their things 
and some of his back pay. Withal, he could not 
resist the contrary impression. 

“Ass—fool—you will hear from them soon,” he 
kept on reiterating to himself, turning back in the 
direction of the ship, resisting violently the reception 
of sinister telepathic messages, or ominous undown- 
able premonitions that were soon to be confirmed 
by the most despicable person he knew. Only then 
it was that he was able to fully understand what 
Jim had said the night before when entering the 
river. 

The Princess Ann was being discharged on a 
covered dock, so huge that driveways and dray ad¬ 
mitting alleys had to be arranged amid the acres 


THE WHIRLWIND 


291 


of incoming and outgoing merchandise. Going 
down one of them towards the ship, Captain Tilden 
saw him and halted as if he encountered a nauseat¬ 
ing blast. He, Bates, was lounging sailor-like on a 
bale of sisal where he commanded a full broadside 
view of the Princess Ann. 

Yes, it was Bates, the Bates of Jim’s hateful 
visions; of Fortesque’s important communication; 
Bates, the adder whose fangs he had warded off 
but had not destroyed; the Bates who feared to come 
nearer the ship fearing that Sturgis might do him 
physical harm or consign him permanently to the 
yellowish water. 

The stevedore-propelled two-wheeled trucks each 
bearing a three hundred pound bag of choice Peru¬ 
vian sugar, came from the ship endlessly. As though 
fascinated by them, Bates watched. ' 

The rumble, jolt and clang of the stream of gaso¬ 
line and mule-propelled vehicles and the sonorous 
shouts of their black drivers vied with the loose, 
metallic, unmechanical rattle of the hand-driven 
trucks over the worn flooring of the dock. This 
raging bedlam prevented Bates from receiving any 
warning; he was so absorbed in the movement about 
the ship that he was unaware of the Captain’s 
piercing eyes and itching palms. 

From the ever-mysterious source of unworthy 
desires, there came to the Captain an impulse to ap- 


292 


THE WHIRLWIND 


proach the latter, unseen, to grasp in his powerful 
hands that scrawny throat, and to batter his body 
on the dusty floor between the rows of goods. 
Captain Tilden afterwards admitted candidly that 
he did not know whether it was fear of the halter 
or of offending God that stayed his hand. He had 
to summon the last iota of strength to relax muscle 
and tendon of arms that had turned to steel. He 
was first relieved, then weakened, when murder left 
his heart. The great bosom heaved laboriously when 
his thoughts left the shadows; his heart felt strained 
and his stomach sick. Then he suddenly began to 
reason. 

How far was he—or the immortal, the divine 
part of Bates—responsible? How much had he 
inherited of the handicap to moral decency and 
spiritual development that was plainly his? What 
jot or spark had been withheld or added to make 
a Bates whose face was leaden with soul atrophy? 
Surely Bates himself, though he had the most dis¬ 
torted taste, were any choice allowed him, would not 
have chosen the small, black, narrow-spaced eyes 
that looked down the long, unlovely, melancholy 
nose; nor the S-shaped jaw that ended in front with 
a brutal bulk between the lip and lower point; nor 
the talon-like fingers now pulling nervously at a 
bale of sisal; nor the thin lips, drawn and bloodless. 


THE WHIRLWIND 


293 


Would the finite mind ever conceive an intelligible 
answer to such questions? 

Captain Tilden was' so thoroughly human, so 
much a coward then, that he did not proceed on the 
most direct way to the ship. It may have been be¬ 
cause he wanted to meet Bates on his own ground 
where he could see him better—away from the noisy 
wharf and nerve-racking environment where proper 
perspective was impossible; or it may have been 
that he wanted time to get a better hold on himself. 
Again the Captain may have avoided him just as 
he would have a pole cat; or it may have been that 
the finer soul felt spiritual nausea at the thought of 
the contact. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


He was scarcely aboard, and seated at his desk 
when Sturgis came. Even the mild blue eye glit¬ 
tered while the black one scintillated murderously. 

“That rat—that weasel—the old Mate Bates has 
been hanging around—wanted to see the Mate—now 
he wants you. Shall I let him come aboard and 
then on over the side? If it’s the same to you, I’d 
say ‘over’—he’s not fit to live!” 

Captain Tilden glanced from beneath his brows 
sharply. Sturgis was savagely in earnest. 

“No—no!” he cautioned. “Nothing like that, 
Sturgis. Let him come; nothing—-nothing must 
happen to him now—here!” 

“Captain, if any of the crew- see him I wouldn’t 
give a drink of moonshine for his life. He’d better 
stay away.” 

“Sturgis, see to it yourself that he comes and goes 
without harm—mind now, not the slightest harm!” 

When Bates came in, Captain Tilden greeted him 
much as a Judge who expected a violent harangue 
from the prisoner whom he had just asked “Why- 
sentence should not be pronounced?” He pointed 
silently to a chair. 


294 


THE WHIRLWIND 


295 


Bates did not remove his coarse, weather-worn, 
stiff-brimmed straw hat. 

“Tilden,” he began beamingly, uncovering yellow 
teeth, “I got nuthin’ against you now. You fought 
me and you fought me fair; you licked me fair. 
The rest of ’em—well, I better explain a little. 
When I went to sea I was a cracker—and I’m a 
cracker yet about gettin’ my man—you know a 
cracker likes to get his man—” Then as though 
his mental processes were suddenly interrupted: 
“You see I hadn’t been a sailor long before I got 
it. Then, of course, they shet me up and I know as 
well as any one I am—I never will be exactly 
right—no one is who’s had it.” 

Here the Captain’s forehead wrinkled. 

“Bates, I don’t quite understand—what do you 
want anyhow?” 

“I know you don’t—I’ll get it all out if you’ll give 
me time. You see it’s hard to talk to you—it’s 
always been—you are the best vessel master and 
sailor, and yet the biggest two kinds of a fool I ever 
seen. Wait a minute, now; don’t get mad. If you 
hadn’t put up a square fight agin me, I wouldn’t 
tell you anything—I’d let you all go to Hell!” 

Captain Tilden leaned his head against his hand, 
closed into a solid fist. Determinedly, with definite 
purpose, he summoned all his supporting philosophy. 

Bates went on: 


296 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“You know when you come to the Durland, we 
locked horns-and you threw me out—out of my own 
ship—you know that now— because you was a fool. 
When I wanted to get rid of the other captains— 
four or five of ’em—I just showed ’em the marks, 
the old spots, and they dusted—they went like 
they’d seen a ghost.” 

“Bates, I’ll admit—but tell me what is this mys¬ 
terious ‘it’ that you refer to. Why don’t you talk 
plainly—we’ll make better headway.” 

“That’s why I say you’re a fool. A man who’s 
gone to sea as long as you and don’t know—that 
Cook Jim knew, and that’s—but wait—I’m goin’ 
to be plain because, say, because you made me 
money. As I say, I hadn’t been a sailor long before 
I got it—leprosy, now you understand ? They 
grabbed me and sent me to the Colony—but I fooled 
’em. After four years they said I was cured, at 
least could not give it to anybody; but I still had 
the marks, an’ I always will have. I went to Mobile 
and Simmons got all the money I had for a quarter 
in the Durland —it wasn’t much; but she wasn’t 
worth much; then. As soon as Simmons found out 
I was a lep, he wanted to get rid of me as bad as 
I wanted to get rid of him and git back my money. 
He’d hire captains and I’d scare ’em off. I wanted 
to make him so sick, he’d give me back my money.— 

“Well, when you come along, you threw me out 


THE WHIRLWIND 


297 


of my own ship and made it pay—so we finally got 
good money. Then that insurance man and the 
cook, Jim, and you drove me off the sea and now I 
got a good ‘States’ job around the lep colony. You 
see I’ve hed it and can’t git it again.” 

“Bates, I had nothing to do with, your being 
cashiered. I knew nothing about it until after¬ 
wards, but if through it, you got a good job, of 
course it was best. How can I help you?” Captain 
Tilden asked sadly. 

“Captain, mebbe you can’t help me at all—mebbe 
I’m not the one that needs help now,” he continued, 
with the subtle cunning of certain mental unbalance. 
“You understand why I had my own quarters for¬ 
ward. One Captain had me about over the side be¬ 
cause when I was quartered in the cabin with, him, 
I threw a scare into him by admitting I was a lep. 
After that I stayed forward. Your cook now got 
on to me so quick, it made me mad. The fight 
started because I wasn’t ready yit for you or the 
crew to know I was an old lep.” 

Tilden, realizing, was dazed. His mind and body 
were waterlogged. 

“Jim told me nothing unless it had to do with 
the ship,” he interjected. 

“No, mebbe not, because you might ask how he 
knew so much about leps. He told you a lot, but 
the biggest lot he didn’t tell. He didn’t tell you the 


298 


THE WHIRLWIND 


safety razor he was using had a tin blade. 1 said it 
to him quick, and then I wasn’t long in finding out 
that Jim, the cook—now your First Mate—was a 
woman!” 

“A woman!’' Captain Tilden’s voice was sharp. 
“Bates, you are going too far—you’re*ridiculous. 
I won’t listen longer—” 

Bates sprang to his feet, gave his thigh* a resound¬ 
ing smack, and glowered at the Captain, agitated for 
a moment beyond control. He turned to the win¬ 
dow. Something he saw in Algiers across the river 
held him for a moment, when wheeling to face the 
Captain with tolerant, lofty sarcasm, he exclaimed 
excitedly: 

“I knew it—-I knew it! I couldn’t believe it at 
first—another such man was never born. As a 
wind-jambing ship Master, you beat the world, but 
after that you’re only a kid—no, not a kid—a jack¬ 
ass that don’t know no better’n work for his feed— 
just a damned fool! Ha! First I thought it was a 
case of a woman—his kid—their kid—and the skip¬ 
per. She had you hipped from the start. She didn’t 
fool me long, though. No man on earth could handle 
grub and dishes, or take care of a kid like that; she 
was dead used to it. Then that dead stall of scrap¬ 
ing her face every few days with a tin blade right 
out on deck for every one to see. When she got 
my hands—I mean caught the spots so quick—it 


THE WHIRLWIND 


299 


made me crazy; made me know she knew all about 
leps. But that damned insurance man—what’s his 
name—and his kid fooled you both, and me too till 
I came ashore. He’s the slickest of all, but I finally 
got him too.” 

The blood had left the Captain's face. He sat as 
one holding his breath. Instead of indignation, 
there was a dull fixedness in his stare. He knew now 
what had been depressing him. Violence to Bates 
would change or mend nothing. He recognized him 
only as a medium through which this thrust of 
fortune had come. He thought of the Mate as a 
boy—Jim had grown upon him until he loved him. 
Now this indescribable shock! But Bates did not 
give him- much time to think before proceeding 
craftily, brutally: 

“You see, when they cashiered me off the sea— 
you know I had to sign that way to get out of prison 
at Chile—I had to come back here to report; we 
cured leps have to report ever so often to be sure 
we’re still right, and when I did, they offered me 
this job. No one else would take it—one State job 
no politician wants—bringing in new leps and look¬ 
ing after escapes. I got too sharp—that’s how I 
got Fortesque. First off, Jim’s stall about leavin’ 
the marine hospital smelt fishy to me, and when the 
Department give me her picture with some other 
escapes, I caught the face; sailor clothes didn’t fool 


300 


THE WHIRLWIND 


me any. Oh, she didn’t deny it this morning when 
they arrested her. She went along as if expecting 
it. It was in the papers about your sailing with 
sugar from Callao, and of course I knew she was 
still with you.—? 

“That's all there’s to it. Your First Mate’s right 
name is “Amelia Rosco.’’—She came from Florida 
—her father was a rich sponge fisher—sent her to 
school and all. Here in New Orleans she worked 
for the newspapers; then she married a lep. He 
died and their child died—leps. Then when they 
was holding her to get over a fever, to see if she 
had it, she escaped and came aboard the Durland as 
cook.” 

Captain Tilden drew a deep breath; it seemed as if 
his great chest would never fill. His left hand 
grasped the corner of the desk. If his right fell on 
the other corner, even the big desk might be hurled 
at the figure before him. Bates realized, though 
vaguely, the intense shock—the suffering of the man, 
and felt relieved when he saw his hands come to¬ 
gether. When he looked into his eyes, Bates felt 
the havoc he had wrought. 

Captain Tilden inhaled deeply, exhaled audibly, 
but it was not a sigh. It was only vitalizing for 
tremendous effort. His hands were still clinched. 

It seemed to him that Jim, the first officer of the 
ship Princess Ann —the one who had won his paren- 


THE WHIRLWIND 


301 


tal affection in form more substantial than flesh— 
stalked to his side and plucked his sleeve, exactly 
as he had when urging him to buy the vessel, bidding 
him arise with the might of outraged truth. Then 
it was that the clouds were swept away and the 
clear light of Heaven shone through the palpitating 
blue. He knew that in that moment that the pre¬ 
monitions, more terrible for being intangible, either 
telepathic, or sent from Heaven or Hell—had 
concerned his Jim, who though now invisible, ap¬ 
pealingly touched and powerfully nerved his brain, 
body and arm. Worse than useless it is to bid a 
big man to pay deceit, craftiness, or cunning in kind 
—At that they always fail miserably. 

Less spectacular and more terrible weapons, 
sagacity and astuteness, based on the external verity 
of right, are his. 

Like a living spirit from Heaven, Jim, stronger 
by far than if he had been there in person, urged 
him to think. 

He remembered Jim’s “important reservations.” 
He did not care now any more than he had then. 
He remembered too at this moment certain flashes 
he had had of Jim, moments of wonder, how he had 
grown to love his Mate. 

“Bates, sit down!” came as an order to clear decks 
for action. Bates not only immediately sat, but 
cowered forward with both hands grasping his chair 


302 


THE WHIRLWIND 


seat in front, fully aware that Captain Tilden had 
recovered from the shock and tossed away fear and 
timidity. He turned aface Bates with his right arm 
on the desk. It seemed a necessity for his long, 
thick body to be erect, so that he could turn at 
balance in any direction which in turn enabled his 
brain to properly function. “Red Oak” Tilden was 
again in action. 

“Bates, can you recall when we first met?” 

“Yes—Mobile.” 

“It was about daylight when I came aboard the 
Durland. Bates, as soon as you told me you were 
the Mate, I decided at that moment that I would not 
trust you with a shoestring, and Tve not changed. 
You had been robbing your partner, Simmons. He 
is straight. Now you may ease any remnant of con¬ 
science you may have by attributing your thieving 
and other more serious criminal inclinations to an 
after-effect of disease. Personally, however, Bates, 
I believe in the whipping post for some men and the 
ducking stool for some women. I can’t think of 
anything so likely to cure you of your moral lapses 
as the cat-o’-nine-tails spread about ten times over 
your bare back. Don’t think this is gratis. I’m 
coming to that soon.— 

“No, Bates, get fresh, oral, visual and mental 
evidence that I would not accept, unsupported, any¬ 
thing you might say under oath, or even when you 


THE WHIRLWIND 


303 


knew you were dying!” Bates shriveled visibly. Til- 
den went on: “So far, your plans, springing from 
whatever polluted fountain they may, unfailingly 
involve your safety or profit, or both. Preventing 
the crimes you attempted on board the Durland, and 
finally making you dollars, is all you have against 
Jim, whom you talk of as ‘your man’ you are going 
to ‘get.’ What tangible evidence have you that 
your whole story is not a created lie—a hellish fabri¬ 
cation?” 

Chagrined, Bates’ thin hard lips stretched over 
yellow teeth. Palsied with fear, Bates did not re- 

pIy - 

“If this story is an infernal lie, with nothing to 
back it up, I’ll kill you—right on this spot!” 




CHAPTER XXV 


A hurricane is no less destructive because of 
storm signals; a soft tropical zephyr slowly becomes 
a breeze—a wind—a piping gale. Though the sun 
often rises a second time before the habitation and 
life-destroying currents come, they are none the less 
devastating. 

Captain Tilden required life’s accumulated 
strength to resist the hurricane that swept across 
his soul. He felt he was being “put through'’ as he 
had put ships through to develop their strength as 
well as their weaknesses, that they might be re¬ 
paired and made whole. 

Bates, as though stung, turned and fled at his last 
words. One thought animated him—to obtain 
proof wanted and return with it to satisfy this man 
possessed by a power that could and would destroy 
him. 

With Bates’ last hated step, Tilden’s every muscle 
was palsied; even his eyes stared narrowly as in 
death. Silence was complete except for the rum¬ 
bling of hand trucks bearing sugar out of the ship. 
He cursed the sugar; he cursed the gold as the 
threshold to this Hell he had entered. 

304 


THE WHIRLWIND 


305 


Tilden recalled that Jim with brutal frankness 
had many times warned him of '‘important reser¬ 
vations.” 

Bates’ story discounted ninety-five per cent., still 
pointed to something, but no!—by Heavens! he 
would not believe a jot of the whole concoction 
springing from such a rotten source. Jim, a leper 
woman, with the child Princess Ann—the tiny life 
that tugged at his heart, dragged to a festering 
lepers’ camp! 

Then he recalled how when it was definitely 
known that their port was changed to New Orleans, 
Jim had begun to droop. All he said—all he did not 
say—when they entered the river, and were directly 
aface New Orleans, passed vividly through Tilden’s 
mind. It fitted in with Bates’ story! 

“No—no—I’ll not believe it though legions troop 
by each chanting ‘Yea!’— The boy, with the child, 
Princess Ann, will soon return from nothing more 
than a shopping tour ashore!”—aye—there was a 
step—his eyes strained; he went hurriedly to the 
door of the cabin. At the deck entrance to the salon, 
stood a stranger. 

“Captain Tilden?—my name is Schoonmaker. I 
have been told this ship’s for sale.” 

The storm still raging within him, Tilden bade 
him enter. Only after the name Fortesque was 
mentioned, did he point to a chair. 


306 


THE WHIRLWIND 


“Yes—we will sell the ship—” his voice was ex¬ 
pressionless. 

“I know the ship—how you have repaired her, 
and all, and I'll give you one hundred a ton register 
if I can get immediate delivery.” The would-be 
purchaser’s voice was eager. 

To Tilden’s credit it can be said that he didn't 
hear the price—he wasn’t interested. He replied: 

“The moment the last bag of sugar goes, you can 
come for her; bring either currency or gold; the ship 
will be yours—but on one condition only.” 

“What’s that?” snapped out the man of busi¬ 
ness. 

“That you change her name.” 

“That’s easy—when will she be ready?” 

“To-morrow.” 

Schoonmaker threw down some bills to bind the 
sale and was gone. Though he had been there all 
told less than one hundred seconds, to Tilden it 
seemed a tiresome hour. 

Sideways, with his back to the door, he settled 
back into his chair—collapsed, inert—so near coma 
that he did not hear the other step advance—positive, 
strong, each one emphasized and punctuated by the 
fall of a heavy cane. 

A resounding slap on his broad shoulders was 
Fortesque’s greeting. Captain Tilden straightened 
so suddenly that his body catapulted forward, send- 


THE WHIRLWIND 


307 


ing the chair spinning backward. He reached for 
the underwriters hand. He felt a surge of hope. 
Instinctively he knew that Fortesque bore news and 
felt—knew—it was good. Like a foul weather grip 
upon the steering wheel, he grasped his hand and 
scanned the rough hewn face. 

“Ah—er—Captain Tilden, it’s no use to ask—I 
can see you are just now pretty hard put. But 
what's this—what’s this—er—a bit careless, I should 
say; thousand dollar bills lying loose around?” 

“Yes, some one was just here; I have sold the 
ship; but just before he came, a human monster 
crawled in, covering everything with slime. I’m 
about funked; I’m about done for.” 

“Ah—Bates, you mean?” 

“Yes.” Tilden bit the word. 

“Ah—er—I was thinking as much—” 

“Eh, then, tell me—tell me—is it so?” 

“Er—now, Captain Tilden, you must not think 

mv news is all bad—” 

* 

“Then it is so?” persisted Tilden savagely. 

“Ah—er—Captain Tilden, I presume you refer 
to your Mate?—Ah—she—” his words came mad¬ 
deningly slow. 

“Yes !—she, he or it—sex means nothing—has my 
Mate, with the child, been taken away as a leper?” 
His voice was losing its control. 

“Ah—er—Captain Tilden, sit down—and let me 


308 


THE WHIRLWIND 


sit. Ah—there, that’s more comfortable. You see 
this man Bates, while he has that subtle cunning— 
a sort of disease remainder—is also a bit of an ass. 
He tried to blackmail me into letting him back on 
the sea, and only succeeded in letting me know his 
plans. It was not very difficult then to defeat his 
ultimate aim against your cook—and the little one.” 
He was silent for a moment, then continued: “Jim 
and the little one stay right here in the City—only 
until a blood test is completed. That may be at 
any moment. We will know definitely soon—” 
“What if the blood shows leprous inoculation?” 
“Ah, Captain, I don’t believe it will.” 

“I say, if it does!” Tilden demanded. 

“Oh—ah—Captain—if it does, it is no occasion 
to feel hopeless. First of all, the popular, even 
world-wise misconception of the malady dates back 
to Bible times, and we have much that’s worse 
thought little of because of greater familiarity. 
When I learned what this man Bates was going to 
do, I got hold of everything available on the subject. 
Now, candidly, Captain Tilden, the left-over or re¬ 
mainder of any of the venereal diseases is worse— 
Scrofula for example that has taken about all your 
red men and is now fast decimating the black popu¬ 
lation of North America!— 

“More hopeful than this, my dear Tilden,” For- 
tesque continued, “is the assurance that the cure of 


THE WHIRLWIND 


309 


leprosy, though a little slow, is no less certain. If 
we find either or both Jim and the—the Little One— 
inoculated, we need not despair; they can be cured.” 

As Tilden continued silent, Fortesque pulled up 
to the end of the Captain’s flat desk and removed 
his hat, at once again taking up the conversation. 
Tilden was not saying anything. Suddenly he real¬ 
ized that his only care in the world was that he could 
feel sure that some day, in some way, his Mate and 
the child might come back to him. 

‘T am, with you, vitally interested in this case as 
you will see, but before I start to tell you more, let’s 
light up. Have a cigar—one is less inclined to 
quarrel while smoking.” 

Something in the tobacco or the small island of 
upstanding hair above the underwriter’s forehead 
helped Tilden to get a hold on himself. He leaned 
back, his cigar clenched between his grinders. 

“Ah—I suppose this graduate of the Lepers’ 
Colony has said that the Little One is my child?” 
Fortesque’s voice was inquiring. 

Tilden’s eyes glittered. He crunched his cigar, 
then nodded. 

“I violently dislike discussing my private affairs; 
how my domestic matters got me into the notion of 
abducting, as it were, my own child, does not really 
matter to you, beyond knowing that I did so. How 
the child was put aboard your vessel and for what 



310 


THE WHIRLWIND 


purpose, are details that are not really essential to 
the issue at this point. But—er—it may, however, 
be as well to state that it was considered a certainty 
that you would land her at Key West. That was 
before we really knew Captain Tilden.— 

“Ah—er—this enlightens you sufficiently to indi¬ 
cate how vital it is to me to know that Jim’s blood 
runs pure—the possibility of infection, you know—” 

He was interrupted by Sturgis who said that 
Bates wanted to see the Captain. 

“I told him to come back, or I’d—” 

“My dear Tilden—ah—er—I say, when you look 
at Bates one way you can but pity—even sympathize 
with him —” 

Tilden arose hastily and met Bates at the door. 

“Captain Tilden, I got something for Mr. For- 
tesque—is he here?” 

“Yes, he’s here—what is it?” 

Bates produced a sealed, official envelope which 
the Captain passed to Fortesque. 

“Now, Captain, this answers all your questions, 
but—but of course if you was in my place—” 
Bates’ voice was hesitant. 

“Bates?” 

“Yes—yes—they’re both all right and waiting 
for you to come out and get ’em,” Bates replied as 
he backed away. 

“Ah—er—Captain—read this: ‘This is to cer- 


THE WHIRLWIND 


311 


tify—’ oh damnation!—clean—free from all taint 
is what it means!” 

They were both silent for a space; then Tilden’s 
words came slowly: 

“I suppose you will take Princess Ann from us— 
from me?” 

‘‘Ah, Captain, I was coming to that. Er—for 
reasons of my own, I think best—that is—I’ve de¬ 
cided to leave her with you—if you’re willing to 
make yourselves her legal parents.” 

Tilden was about to spring from his chair, but in¬ 
stead exclaimed: 

“Parents!” 

“Ah—er—now I’ll give you more good news— 
ah—the steamer—the big ship Princess Ann is in 
commission and waiting for a Master—that is, for 
you. Ah—er—she’s a wonder, nearly twenty thous¬ 
and tons; and now I say, Captain Tilden, I don't 
want to be considered presumptive, but you see I’ve 
quite arranged to secure a license for your ‘First 
Mate’—er—Jim—to sail with you in the Princess 
Ann —a—er—a license, Captain Tilden.” 

“Red Oak” was silent; he could hardly grasp the 
magnitude of the happiness that had come to him. 
The Mate with him—always. The little Princess 
Ann, theirs, a perpetual reminder of the sea’s re¬ 
juvenating power and that the One on High works 
in devious ways his miracles to perform. 


312 


THE WHIRLWIND 


Suddenly he thought of Fortesque—so upright— 
so square. A man through and through—driven 
by reasons of his own to give up his own child. 

He looked at the insurance man. His eyes filled 
with tears. He gripped Fortesque’s hand hard. 

Suddenly Fortesque spoke again: 

“It’s all right, old man.—We know each other. 
We both have work to do—let us do it!” 


THE END 


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